Act Like We Are Fools
by Lauralot
Summary: This could only end badly, but he couldn't help but go along for the ride. Joker/Crane. Sequel to Mad Friends.
1. Active and Reactive

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any of its characters/settings, and I make no profit from this.

AN: I suppose an explanation is in order, i.e., this is the part where I justify writing smut. As my last story _Mad Friends _(this is a sequel, it's not necessary to have read the first one but you might want to) was an exploration of Jonathan Crane in a platonic relationship, I wanted to explore him in a romantic one. I chose the Joker because hey, I like the pairing, and also I thought it would be challenging to bring Crane into a relationship with someone he can't stand.

And now, let's get this show on the road.

* * *

God, how he hated straitjackets.

Jonathan Crane gave one last fruitless tug against the fabric, quitting as he failed to gain any leeway whatsoever, and leaning back against the wall with a sigh. If only he could just pull it over his head, but no, Arkham had to invest in the jackets with crotch straps. Restraint appeared to be the one area of psychiatry this hellhole was competent in, and that was currently frustrating him to no end.

He supposed there was a lesson to be learned here, not that it made things any less irritating. "Keep your temper," Tetch had warned him, about ten seconds before he begun the fight that had led to this predicament. Good advice, but not something Scarecrow had been in the mood to hear at the time. It was hard to keep his temper when one of his former patients had taken to following him around, threatening him with death at every opportunity. It wasn't as if he was intimidated; one well time glare was enough to send the idiot running off, but it had gone on for so long that his patience had run thin and well, here he was.

He sat, glaring down at his restraints, disgusted. Mostly with the asylum's security, which had left him bound this way for nearly five hours now, to the point where he was passing through discomfort and into actual pain. But also repulsed with himself, for his lack of control. Why couldn't he have listened to Tetch? Or at least to himself, to that annoying little voice in the back of his head that had said maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What was it Alice said? 'I give myself such very good advice, but I very seldom follow it'? Something like that, anyway. It fit. When Scarecrow got angry, nothing could reason with him, and now here he was, paying the penalty for it.

He closed his eyes, hoping he could at least sleep if he couldn't be comfortable. It didn't take. Drifting off was harder than usual, considering that his arms had fallen asleep hours ago and were still stinging painfully. Falling asleep was never easy for him, anyway. The screams coming from the next room over didn't help in the slightest. He had no idea who his neighbor was; he'd never gotten a chance to look through the cell's window when he was escorted down the hall, and anyway, it appeared to be covered with duct tape, for reasons he'd never bothered to puzzle out. Whoever it was, Crane would like nothing more than to get his hands on him and cut out his vocal cords, a just revenge for the past six months of irritation. He'd sell his soul for some peace and quiet.

There was a particularly loud sob from the next room. Crane opened his eyes, sighed, and was just beginning to debate whether there was any point in trying to get the jacket off again when the door to his cell flew open, slamming into the wall beside it.

"Hey Jonny! How've ya been?"

_Oh dear God._ Crane glared at the figure darkening his doorway, closed his eyes, opened them again. No, he was still there. The Joker leaned against the doorframe, dressed in his usual suit, make-up newly applied. His hair was still blond, though. Crane supposed he hadn't had the dye on hand the last time he was apprehended. Most people would have put their costumes on after they'd finished breaking out, not in the middle of the process. Obviously, the Joker was not most people.

"What do you want?" he asked, annoyed. The answer was very likely to be something akin to 'to gloat about the fact that I'm getting out when you're not,' and Crane didn't think he had the patience to stand it right now. Not that he'd have a choice in the matter; the Joker did what he wanted whenever he wanted, but just because he had to listen to it didn't mean he had to take it well.

Joker pouted. "Rude much?" He shrugged it off, twirling one of his many knives between his gloved fingers as he went on. "See, I'm breaking out tonight—"

"I hadn't noticed." Was there a point to this?

He scowled. "Patience is a virtue, scaredy cat. I was gonna ask if ya wanted to come with, but if that's how you're gonna be about it, maybe I'll withdraw my invitation."

"You what?" Crane stared, the Joker's words racing through his mind. Breaking out…well, on one hand, of course he wanted out of here. He'd kill just to get away from the screaming, never mind the drugs, therapists, and straitjackets. No one, not even the people too far gone to know their own names, really wanted to stay at Arkham.

But if the Joker wanted to break him out, that meant he wanted to use him for something. Crane could vividly remember his last experience working with the man, and had the scars to remind him should he ever block it out. The last thing he wanted was to spend another month in traction because the Joker appointed him 'Bat-shield' again.

Well, the last thing besides staying here…

"I'll go with you," he said, a little too quickly.

Joker smirked, not moving from his place in the doorway, knife still flashing in his hand. "Well, I dunno anymore, Jonny. I mean, ya weren't all that nice to me a minute ago. Maybe I don't want your company." He licked his lips, considering. "Why don'tcha try asking nicely?"

Crane glared, gathering all the dignity he had. Given the straitjacket, that wasn't much, but it was the principle of the thing. "I'm not going to beg, if that's what you're asking."

"Really?" The Joker arched a brow, still grinning. "'Cause I kinda doubt that. I think you'll do whatever I want, if ya really want out."

They stared at each other for a moment, a silent battle of wills waging that Crane knew he was going to lose, but still went through out of pride. It lasted for a minute or so, before the Joker shrugged and turned away. "Well, if ya don't want my help—"

"Please," Crane forced himself to say. It was the mental equivalent of dislocating his arms, about. Certainly Scarecrow wasn't pleased.

The clown spun around to face him, coat flaring out, smile wider than ever. "I'm sorry?"

"Please take me with you," he muttered, face on fire.

"'Kay." The Joker was on him before he could glance up again, undoing the straps binding his arms. "See how much easier things are when you're polite?"

Crane didn't respond. The Joker carried on, pulling the straps away and then slicing through the fabric at the top of each sleeve, to allow his hands through. He rolled back the excess fabric, taking hold of Crane's hands and scrutinizing them afterward. For a moment Crane thought he was observing the scar tissue there—another by-product of spending time with the clown—until he shook his head, disgusted. "Ya still bite your nails, scaredy cat?"

_Christ. _What, was he going to leave him behind for having ragged cuticles? "Your point?"

"Well, it's unhygienic," Joker said, grabbing him by the back strap of the jacket and hauling him to his feet, as though he couldn't stand on his own.

"You're one to talk," Crane muttered, against his better judgment, shaking his arms in an attempt to regain feeling.

The Joker frowned, looking almost hurt. "You're not a people person, are ya?"

"Not at all."

"It shows. C'mon, let's get outta here."

They stepped into the hall, Crane taking note of a guard collapsed on the floor. He didn't see any blood, but then, just because Joker preferred to make his kills bloody didn't mean he couldn't do things neatly. The body was too far off for Crane to tell if it was breathing or not, and really, it didn't concern him too much.

He turned his attention to the cell beside his own, the one with the taped-over window, finding himself strangely drawn to it. It wasn't as if he couldn't hunt down this patient again, and come back with weapons to pay whoever it was back for the sleepless nights, but he wanted a face to put with the screaming. With the Joker watching impatiently, he crossed over to the door, pulling a corner of the tape away and lifting it back.

For a moment, his eyes scanned over nothing but a blank wall, until he caught sight of the figure in the corner and stiffened. He was not looking at a person so much as a mass of scar tissue in human form, huddled in profile, facing the opposite wall. Crane wasn't frightened so much as disgustedly intrigued; he didn't see how someone could be so horribly injured yet still living. He watched a lidless eye flick back and forth, both fascinated and repulsed, and started as the thing in the room seemed to note his presence and turn to face him. He was even more startled to find that the half of the face slowly turning into his line of view seemed to be unmarred, and found himself unable to look away.

That was remedied by the Joker, who grabbed hold of Crane's hand and pulled him back toward the center of the hall. "Ya about done with being a peeping tom? Good," he said, without waiting for an answer. "Let's go." Still holding hands, he took off. His pace was leisure, as if he were strolling through the park rather than breaking out of an asylum.

"I can walk on my own," Crane protested, the clown dragging him like the abusive older brother he'd never had.

"Don't trust ya not to get lost." Joker licked his lips. "Besides, ya don't know which way we're headed."

Crane gritted his teeth and tried to remind himself that this would be worth it if it meant getting out. At least he'd get to see Harley again, for the first real time in six months. Well, that wasn't exactly true, they'd seen each other in the rec room and at meals and things, but it didn't count as real interaction when there were time limits and guards breathing down their necks. Crane knew Harley would be ecstatic about escaping, though she didn't seem to dislike Arkham that much. She didn't hate anything, really, not even the Batman.

Sure, she'd celebrate by making love to the Joker for several hours, or days, maybe, but after that, he'd enjoy her company. She was his best friend after all, crushes on homicidal sideshow acts aside. Nigma, Isley, and Tetch might not be too happy about being left behind, but they couldn't be too upset about it. Crane knew they'd break out if given the chance, others with them or not.

His thoughts were broken by the sudden realization that they were not heading in the direction of Harley's cell, nor anywhere near it. Actually, Joker was taking them the opposite way. "Where are we going?"

"Out. Don'tcha remember?" Joker asked, pulling him through a side door. It was marked 'Emergency Exit Only: Alarm Will Sound' in red warning letters, but no alert went off. He wasn't surprised, just a little disgusted that the security system could be brought down by one psychopath so easily.

"What about Harley?"

The Joker shrugged. "What about her?" Off Crane's incredulous look, he added, "Oh, come off it. I won't be requiring her services for this particular plan, okay?"

"Services? But Har—she's your—she loves you," he stammered. He knew the Joker was willing to use, abuse, and discard anyone and everyone stupid enough to get involved with him, but he'd thought the clown must have some feeling for Harley. He had sex with her often enough, anyway. Clearly, he was wrong.

"So? Her mistake." They were heading off across the parking lot, the Joker's eyes looking blacker than ever in the night, almost like gaping sockets. "Besides, she'll forgive me in five seconds. All I gotta do is distract her with something sparkly."

Crane shook his head, disgusted. Not so much at the Joker's behavior; after the initial shock, he had to admit that was typical of him. Rather, it was revulsion that he was absolutely right about Harley. It depressed him to think that his friend was a hopeless, codependent doormat, but it was true. Fighting back a sigh, and wondering how he let himself be talked into this madness, he slid into the passenger's seat of a car the Joker was hotwiring.

The clown took the driver's seat a few minutes later, his gloves smeared with grease from messing around under the hood. As they careened through the parking lot and onto the streets, Crane's curiosity got the best of him and he had to ask. "What do you need me for anyway?"

"You're always all business, ya know that?" Joker sighed. "I'll tell ya one thing, it wasn't for your conversation."

Crane closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten. And then did it again, in Latin. "So what was it for?"

"I'll tell ya later." Managing to sense the glare he was being given without turning his head, he added, "I don't like laying all my cards on the table at once, sorry."

The sleeves on the straitjacket were starting to slip down over his hands again. Crane pushed them back, giving the scars on his hands a brief glance. "In that case, what incentive do I have to stay with you? If you've nothing to offer me, what's to keep me from leaving as soon as you're distracted?"

"I gotta bribe ya?" He smirked. "In that case, how about this?" He took one hand from the wheel, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out what Crane took for a second to be a burlap sack, before recognizing it.

"My mask?" He bit his lips to keep from smiling. Crane wasn't like the Joker, who screamed bloody murder every time his make up was removed, but he did feel more at ease with the mask. He didn't even have to wear it; just the feel of the fabric in his hand was enough to remind him of the power he could hold over others. Still, it was easily replaceable. "You expect me to do whatever you want because of that?"

"Not just that." The Joker shook the mask, an odd rattling coming from inside. "I brought something else." He dropped the mask on the armrest between them, reaching inside and pulling out a prescription bottle of multi-colored pills. "Figured ya might want these. A lot."

Well, there went the idea of running away. The antipsychotics, unlike the mask, were not replaceable, and certainly could not be abandoned unless he wanted to go back to the state of paralyzing fear his brain had been wired to ever since he overdosed on his own toxin, years ago. _Damn it. _Knowing he was defeated but not wanted to admit it, he retorted, "I could always break into Arkham and get more of those."

"Ya _could,_" the Joker conceded, driving in such a way that the car was on the sidewalk for a moment, "but I don't think ya _will. _No offense, scaredy cat, but you've never been as good at breaking and entering as I have, and after this little, uh, incident, they'll tighten security. Again. Besides," he added, shaking the bottle in his hand, "You're a reactive force, Jonny."

He blinked. "What?"

"A reactive force. See, me, I'm active. I go out and blow things up for the fun of it. You, on the other hand, do things in response to others. Someone pisses ya off, so you poison 'em and record the results. Or attack the Batman because he interfered with your operation. But ya don't seek him out just because ya can. You're reactive, so ya wouldn't want to break into Arkham unless ya absolutely had to. It's not your style."

Crane frowned. "I'm sorry, are you trying to psychoanalyze me?"

"If by trying ya mean succeeding, then yeah. I guess I am. Anyway, I'm hanging onto these—" he rattled the pills again "—to insure that ya don't do anything stupid. And I'll explain what you're here for when I'm in the mood to do so. Got it, kitten?"

"_What_?"

"I said, got it?"

"I know _that._" Crane stared, still stunned. "I meant the bit _after _that."

"What, kitten?" Joker repocketed the pills, but left the mask between them. Crane picked it up, resisting the urge to hug it to his chest as if clinging to the last shred of normalcy in his world. "It's a new nickname I made up for ya. I, uh, tend to do that a lot, ya know."

"Yes, but why _kitten_?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but couldn't help but ask. Crane supposed he was a masochist at heart.

"It's from scaredy cat. Cat, kitten, see?"

"You're giving me nicknames for nicknames now?"

"Yep."

They rode in silence for a minute, before the Joker began whistling. _Oh, this is going to be all sorts of fun, _Crane thought, sighing inwardly, as the car sped through the night.

* * *

So, what did you think? Love it, hate it, didn't care? Fine, just please review and let me know!

Oh, and "Kitten" is an homage to Cillian Murphy's character in the lovely film _Breakfast on Pluto. _If you haven't seen it, you should. It's great and Cillian is absolutely fantastic in it.


	2. Living Together

AN: Happy Thanksgiving to all, and thanks for the review, DCKC!

* * *

They came to a stop deep in the Narrows, in front of a rundown apartment building barely managing to stay upright. In front of the door stood a man in a clown mask, hand in his pocket, most likely holding a gun. Weapon or not, his body language was decidedly nervous. Crane couldn't blame him; the Narrows were a nerve-wracking place on their own, and working for the Joker provided its own set of horrors. Still, he couldn't help but smirk, wishing he had his fear toxin with him, wanting to see how quickly he could push him over the edge, pull the mask off and watch as he broke.

Unfortunately, he did not have his toxin, just a burlap sack with eyeholes. And somehow, he doubted that would be as effective. True, he could be terrifying without it, but that took time, and a controlled environment. And the Joker might not appreciate Crane terrorizing his henchman. From what he'd heard on news reports, the clown didn't mind killing his men, or encouraging them to kill each other, but letting someone else break his toys might be out of bounds. Crane figured his chances of living were higher if he didn't test it.

Joker opened his door, running a hand through his hair as he stepped out. "C'mon, kitten."

"I refuse to respond to that," Crane said, closing his own door behind him. He felt gravel grinding under his shoes as they made their way toward the henchman.

"Ya just did respond to it."

"No, I told you that I wasn't going to acknowledge it. Just because you said it before I answered doesn't mean I was responding to it."

"Does so, kitten."

Crane held in a sigh.

"Got the key?" Joker asked the clown, who nodded stiffly, holding it up in his hand. The metal glinted off the streetlight as Joker took it, pushing past his henchman and unlocking the door. "Come here, Jonny."

"What is this place?" he asked warily, as Joker pulled the key out and ushered him inside.

"Our secret lair. Whaddya think?"

Crane stepped through the doorway slowly. He wouldn't put it past the Joker to have some horrible trap set up in here. Not that it made sense to break him out just to kill or hideously mutilate him, but the Joker didn't have to make sense.

Nothing happened, however, when he stepped through, except that the Joker followed and turned on the lights. Illuminating the room turned out to be horrific enough.

"Nice, huh?"

One of Crane's test subjects had been germ phobic: driven to a near catatonic state by the mild griminess of his asylum cell once he'd been exposed to the fear toxin. Looking around the apartment, Crane could suddenly sympathize with the man very well. If this place had ever seen a broom, mop, or can of insecticide, it hadn't been in the last decade. He was probably risking an asthma attack just by breathing this air, and he didn't even have asthma. "You couldn't have used a different apartment?" he asked. "Or anything less full of disease and filth?" God, living in a box on the street would be preferable to this.

"Oh, you're too sensitive."

Joker brushed past him, his shoes sending clouds of dust into the air with each step. Crane followed. The entryway they were walking through seemed to double as a living room, with wide windows covered by filthy curtains. The room was barren aside from an old coffee table, which he wouldn't trust to hold so much as a dime without collapsing. They carried on down a darkened hallway with peeling, faded wallpaper, passing a door Crane guessed led to a bathroom, and ending at the end of the apartment, in what appeared to be the only bedroom.

Crane flipped the switch, the light overhead flickering to life. The bedroom was every bit as filthy as the rest of the place, save for the bed, which was covered in spotless sheets, still creased as though recently bought. He took note of several footprints in the dust on the floor, guessing the Joker had sent his henchman to take care of things before hand. _So he'll go for weeks at a time without bathing, or taking care of himself in the slightest, but he draws the line at sleeping in dust? Interesting._

A shoe hit the floor beside him, jolting him out of his thoughts. He looked over to see Joker sitting on the bed, pulling the other shoe off and throwing that to the floor as well. "What are you doing?"

"Sleeping." Joker pulled off his coat, taking care to hang it from a bedpost so it wouldn't be tarnished by all the dust. "Breaking out's a tiring business, kitten. You'd probably want sleep too if you'd actually done anything."

"I doubt that." Crane had always been the type to get by with little sleep. That was less out of choice than out of an inability to get to sleep, but still. "Are you going to tell me what any of this is about now?"

The Joker yawned, lying back on the bed. "Ask me in the morning."

Crane scowled, watching as the Joker tried rather awkwardly to remove his tie and vest without sitting back up. "This had better be worth it."

"Oh, it will be. Trust me on that." He rolled onto his side, with the pained expression of a man lying on a vest stuffed with weapons, pulling the tie off.

_Trust him? It'll be a snowy day in hell before that happens. _Seeing no point in continuing the conversation, he looked around the room and was struck with the sudden and horrible realization that there was only one bed. "Er…where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Well…" Joker's eyes scanned the room as he licked his lips, thinking. "I guess ya can share the bed. Not that ya deserve it or anything, given how rude you've been, but I'm feeling generous. What?" he added, in response to Crane's stricken expression. "I'm trying to be nice here."

"I am _not _sharing a bed with you." There was no way. He'd been traumatized enough by the way the Joker used to sneak into his bed at Arkham. Sharing a bed with him could only lead to some horrible torture, be it physical or psychological.

Joker sighed. "I don't see what you're so upset about. I mean, _you're _the one who makes passes at _me._ If anyone has a right to be uncomfortable it, it's not you, scaredy cat."

Crane tried counting backwards from ten again, this time in English, Latin, and Spanish. He was halfway through French as well, when the Joker spoke again. "Look, if that's how ya feel about it, ya can always sleep on the floor."

He considered it. If he could sweep enough dust out of the way, there would only be the issue of temperature. Well, that and the roaches, but he guessed the cold chill in the room would be more uncomfortable. Probably. "If I sleep on the floor, can I have one of the blankets?"

"Nope." The Joker sat up, shrugging off his vest and sliding his legs under the sheets.

_It figures. _He wondered if risking frostbite or hypothermia would be worth it. Certainly it couldn't be any more uncomfortable than sharing a bed with the clown.

The Joker watched him mentally debate for a moment, an amused smile on his face. "Look," he said, patting the blanket beside him. "If ya come over here I just might tell ya what this is all about."

_If I come over there, I just might be violated,_ he thought, but the sight of a particularly large roach crawling across the floor made him reconsider. Not that insects frightened him, but he didn't like the idea of them scurrying over his face in the night. "Fine."

He trudged across the room, trying not to let apprehension show on his features, and lay down beside the homicidal maniac, staring up at the ceiling. "All right, so what do you want me for?"

There was no verbal response, just a hand, surprisingly soft on his face, caressing the burn scars Rachel Dawes had given him with her tazer, long ago. Crane started, feeling ragged fingernails brush against his face as he did. "What are you _doing_?"

"I like your scars," the Joker said simply, smiling at him. "Who gave 'em to ya, Batman?"

Crane pushed his hand away, irritated. "I thought you said you'd tell me what this was about."

"I said I _might_," he said, eyes sparkling. "You're too trusting."

Crane did not bother to hold the sigh in this time, and sat up. "Fine. I'll be on the floor."

"Hey, wait." The Joker's hand closed around his wrist, pulling him back down. "I'll give ya a hint."

"And what would that be?"

"Are ya still in touch with your chemical suppliers?"

He blinked. "I was earlier in the year. I haven't contacted them in a long while, but as long as Batman is on the streets they expect me to be out of touch for long periods. Why, do you want the toxin?" Well, that was intriguing, to say the least. Since when had Joker been interested in frightening people? His plans had always been…well, what passed for humorous in his mind, Crane supposed.

"Not exactly." He smacked his lips after the last syllable. "I'll need a few, uh, alterations, but you're a smart guy, aren'tcha? It shouldn't be a big deal."

"What kind of alterations?"

Joker yawned. "Tired now, ask me in the morning." He smirked as his companion's irritated expression, reached out again, ruffled his hair. "Goodnight."

Crane resisted the urge to slam his head against the nearest wall in frustration and stood, crossing the room to turn off the lights. When he returned, the Joker appeared to have fallen fast asleep already.

And had also managed to pull all the sheets to his side of the bed. Lovely.

He sighed, lying back down and shifting, trying to find a position that didn't leave the straitjacket's buckles stabbing into him. His attempts were unsuccessful, so he went back to staring up at the darkened ceiling, pondering what the Joker could be planning, and waiting for sleep to come.


	3. Friendship

AN: Thanks for the reviews! I'm sorry to say that there may not be a chapter tomorrow, as I'll be driving back to college and getting everything resettled after Thanksgiving break, but it should be up soon.

* * *

The cold woke him up.

He hadn't been able to drift off until late; he wasn't sure of the exact time, but it was several hours after he'd shut off the lights, long after the Joker had fallen asleep. Hours spent staring up in the darkness, listening to the Joker's breathing and rats scurrying through the walls, wondering what horrific purpose the clown could want fear toxin for. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

Crane knew before he opened his eyes that he hadn't slept enough, as usual. He really should stay there and try to sleep more, but now that he was up, it'd take another several hours to get him out again. Besides, he was freezing.

Unsurprising, given that the Joker still had all the blankets. He'd tried stealing them back during the night, and Joker had growled at him, apparently in his sleep. If he was that aggressive when unconscious, Crane didn't want to aggravate him further by waking him up, and had decided to make do without the sheets.

He opened his eyes and found, to his dismay, that he was lying against the Joker. Lovely. Intellectually, he knew that it had been his body's unconscious need for heat that had put him in such as position, but intellect didn't stop his face from flaming as he pulled back. Well, it could have been worse. The last time he'd done that, around six months ago, Joker had been awake, and had a camera.

Crane sat up, noting that the blankets were still wrapped around the Joker, tighter than ever. So much for trying to take them back. He pulled the sleeves of the straitjacket down over his hands for warmth and looked around the room with growing disgust. Even in the dim light, the filth was apparent. It wasn't as if he needed everything to be spotless. Crane had grown accustomed to living in a fair amount of disorder himself, whenever he broke out, given that when he was doing research, he tended to neglect things like cleaning or eating. Still, scattered papers and piles of discarded clothes were one thing, a layer of dust an inch thick was quite another. Antipsychotics or not, the filth alone made him seriously consider leaving.

_Oh, _he thought, straightening. The antipsychotics. If it was morning by now, and he guessed it was, he'd be needing some about now. Of course, without a watch, he couldn't be sure. He found himself carefully crawling over the Joker's body, to the foot of the bed where the clown's vest hung from the bedpost. One pocket contained a cell phone, clearly stolen judging by its Disney Princess cover, but the battery appeared to be dead. After searching through several more pockets—nicking his fingers on the blades concealed in a few—he happened upon a pocket watch. Six until eight. So it was morning. So he'd have to wake the Joker up. Joy.

"Er…Joker?" He put a hand on his shoulder. No response. He tried pressing down a little. The clown didn't move. "Excuse me?"

Nothing.

"Joker?" He pushed harder, and less than a second a hand shot out and closed tightly around his wrist.

"Ya had better have a good reason for waking me up."

"I need the pills."

"And this can't wait until a reasonable hour?"

He did not mention that he considered eight in the morning to be a very reasonable hour. "They're not as effective if I don't take them at the same time each day."

Joker let go of him and sat up, looking equal parts tired, annoyed, and horrified. "Ya mean we've gotta do this _every morning_?"

Crane nodded, massaging the wrist the Joker had had hold of. "If it bothers you, you could always let me keep the pills," he offered, without much hope of success.

"Ha ha ha _no._" He sat up, hand emerging from his pocket with the prescription bottle in hand. "How many do ya need?"

"Two."

He pushed them into Crane's hand. "There. Have fun. I'm going back to sleep, don't wake me up unless Batman shows up or something."

"Is that likely?"

He'd already gone back to sleep, or at least a convincing imitation thereof. With a sigh, Crane stood and made his way to the kitchen, feeling the dirt under his feet with each step and growing steadily more disgusted. After washing the pills down, he turned his attention to searching the cupboards for some kind of cleaning product or implement. Anything.

The cabinet closest to the old, rattling refrigerator contained a broom and dust pan as disused and dust covered as everything else, but still useable. He picked the broom up, cursed, dropped it, pulled the splinter out of his hand, and picked it up again, this time more carefully. Crane glanced around the room, taking in the enormity of the task at hand. He felt a bit like Sisyphus must have at the start of a new day pushing his boulder uphill.

It was slow going, given that every few minutes amassed a pile of dust so large he had to stop and transfer it to the dust pan, and then to the trash can, which was slowly but surely filling. Nor did it remove all the filth; there was still a layer of grime caked onto the floor that he guessed would have to be mopped away. As his search yielded no mops, he continued sweeping, leaving what remained as a problem for another day.

Several hours later, he had progressed out of the kitchen and down the hall into the bedroom. Much to his dismay, the Joker chose that moment to wake up. Crane turned his back to him, hoping he'd fall back asleep as quickly as he had before, but of course that didn't happen. That would have been too easy.

"Whaddya doing, Jonny?" He sounded amused.

"Cleaning."

There was a rasping giggling from behind him that slowly evolved into roars of laughter. It sounded almost like a scream, really. "God, you're _such _a woman."

He rolled his eyes. The Joker was one of the most dangerous men in the world, yes, certainly not someone to underestimate, but when he said things that childish, it was hard to be intimidated by him. "What, only women prefer not to wallow in filth?"

"No, but only a woman would get up and do something about it before noon." He turned to face the Joker, who was sprawled out on the bed, watching his progress. His makeup had become a smeared mess in the night, which would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but still seemed intimidated on him. "Tell me something, kitten, did the shrinks ever say if ya met the, uh, criteria for a gender identity disorder?"

Crane wondered if that statement was meant to be insulting or just irritating. If it was the latter, it was successful. "I believe I have made clear several times now my dislike for that particular term of…endearment."

"God, you're so touchy." The Joker sat up, stretching his arms over his head. "Whaddya want me to call you, beautiful?"

Crane stared. "Tell me, do you hope to gain something in your attempts to screw with my head, or are you just doing this for fun?"

"My attempts to what?" His hurt expression might have been more believable were it not for the amused tone in his voice. "Can't ya take a compliment? Just like a woman. You're beautiful, and I'm not just saying that. Have ya ever really looked at your eyes?"

He had. They were blue and rather ordinary to him, but he'd received compliments on them before. Never from a psychotic terrorist, though. "Fine, I have nice eyes. That doesn't change the fact that you can't stand me."

The Joker tilted his head. "Where the hell didya get that idea?" This time the hurt in his voice sounded honest, if mild. "I don't hate ya, scaredy cat. I think you're a control freak pretty boy who could stand to lighten up a few hundred lumens, but that doesn't mean I don't _like _ya."

"You broke my arm," Crane said, "and now you're trying to tell me we're friends?"

"Are ya _still _bitter about that? It was like nine months ago."

"Seven."

"Whatever." He stood, shaking his head in an attempt to shift his hair back into place. "The point is, I've slapped Harley around more than a few times, and we still have sex. I don't mean to brag—well, actually I do—but we have sex a _lot_. Now, I know you're not the best with people, kitten, but I'm sure even you know that sex tends to imply, uh, togetherness? Love, friendship, a relationship of that kind."

"You left her at Arkham."

"I didn't say it was a _stable _relationship. Look, what I mean is, I consider us friends. Don't you?"

He considered him more of a friend than say, Batman or the GPD, but that was about it. "I consider us forced business partners."

Joker pouted, somehow managing to look childish and absolutely psychotic at the same time. "Oh, c'mon, don't be like that."

"You're forcing me to stay here with the threat of withholding incredibly necessary medication, without telling me what you want me to do for you. How should I be?"

And abruptly the broom went flying from his hand as Joker closed the space between them, grabbing Crane in what could only be described as a tackle-hug. He managed to keep his balance enough to avoid falling to the floor, instead only falling against the maniac. "What in God's name are you doing?"

"Hugging. It's a friend thing. You and Harley used to do it, remember?"

"I know _that._" He tried not to let the Joker get to him, and failed miserably. "Could you please let go now?"

"That depends, beautiful. Are ya gonna admit that we're friends?"

Crane sighed. "Sure, why not?"

"Yay." The Joker left go, though he did ruffle Crane's hair first. "So, ya wanna hear the plan?"

He arched a brow. "Are you actually going to tell me this time?"

"Yeah." The Joker took hold of his wrist, leading him back to the bed. They sat, the clown's legs kicking absentmindedly as he spoke, bringing clouds of dust up from the floor. "Ya know nitrous oxide?"

Crane blinked. It almost made sense. "You want laughing gas? Why don't you just steal it?"

"Because I don't want that kind of laughing gas, I want something special. Something that'll make people as frightened and hallucinate-y as your toxin, but that'll make 'em smile like this." He grinned widely, showing off his yellowed teeth.

"What, wide enough to rip the skin?" Crane asked, staring at the scars.

Joker's eyes widened like those of a child spotting Santa Claus in a mall. "Ya think ya could do that?"

"No idea. Possibly. But you want them to smile?"

"And laugh, yeah. Oh, and do ya think ya could rig it so they're still smiling once it kills 'em?"

"Maybe." His hand twitched for want of a pen, to write down the ideas racing through his head. It might work, _could _work. One of early toxin formulas had had uncontrollable giggling as a side effect, if he could just revisit that recipe, figure out what caused that irregularity and expand on it. Then there was the smiling, he wasn't quite sure how to isolate muscle paralysis to the cheeks, but there could be a way. There had to be a way, because he wanted to make it, test it, watch the new level of fear facial disfigurement would add. It would be challenging, entertaining, _fun._

"Do you have a pen?" he asked, chemical names and mixtures racing through his head, half-begging to be written down. The Joker handed over a Sharpie, lime green in color. "Paper?"

"Nope."

Slightly irritated but too intrigued to really let it affect him, Crane took off down the hall, uncapping the marker as he stepped into the bathroom. Joker followed, with a confused look, tongue pushing against his scars from the inside as he tried to puzzle out whether or not his companion had lost it. "Whaddya doing?"

"Writing," Crane said, barely hearing him as he scribbled on the mirror. He attempted to make his notes as small as possible, to conserve space, though the odd angle he had to write at in order to reach the top of the mirror made that difficult.

"Ya know you're leaving a huge sign that we've been here, not to mention giving away what we're planning, right?"

"It'll wipe off," he said distractedly, trying to remember exactly what he'd used in that compound.

"My men are bringing paper in a couple hours," Joker offered, still looking somewhat wary, if it were possible for the Clown Prince of Crime to look that way.

"That's nice. I need to write now." He glanced down at the toilet paper, wondering if he could use that without objection when the mirror ran out.

"They're bringing clothes too. I figured you'd want to get out of the straitjacket…uh, you're not hearing a word I'm saying, are ya?"

"Okay." Oh, if this worked it was going to kick _so_ much ass.

"Right. Well, I just thought ya might like to that I had told them they were gonna be cleaning this place, so ya did all that sweeping for nothing."

If Crane heard him, he didn't show it.

Joker laughed softly, watching as Crane's reflection slowly became obscured by green writing. "You're really cute when you're concentrating, ya know that?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I think," he said, leaning against the doorway, "that this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."


	4. Waking Up

AN: And so I return to college, only to have a fire in my dorm on the first night back. Don't worry, I'm fine (and so is everyone else) and thus the updates will not be interrupted.

Thanks for the reviews!

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"The extract from the Thai flowers will take some time to get, of course, a few weeks at least, but once I have that I should be able reproduce the original formula—"

"Yeah, sounds good. C'mon."

Crane was vaguely aware that he was being led somewhere, but his location didn't seem important at the moment. Not compared to this new compound, anyway. He'd been brainstorming for hours now, to the point where it almost seemed that the ideas were too much for him to contain alone, he _had _to express them. "My notes for that compound were confiscated by the police, obviously, along with the rest of my research, but I'm fairly sure I know exactly what went into it."

"Uh-huh, that's great."

"And even if I don't, I know which parts I'm unsure on, so from there it should be simple enough to figure out what needs to be altered, and then—" he trailed off, blinking. There was cold air on his face and dark sky all around, and it dawned on him that they were outside. "Where are we?"

"The roof," said the Joker, amused, his hand in Crane's. He heard quiet laughter behind them, and turned his head to find two of the clown's henchman there. One looked amused, the other slightly disappointed. Strange.

"Why are we up here?"

"To see if it would wake ya up. Remind me never to ask ya what you're working on again. You've been talking nonstop for three hours, scaredy cat."

"I have?" Come to think of it, his voice did feel hoarse. He found himself drinking water without thinking about it, and stopped to stare at the plastic bottle in his hand. "Where did I get this?"

"Knox there," Joker tilted his head towards the amused-looking man, "gave it to ya half an hour ago."

Crane took him in. He was tall, well over six foot, with hair tightly braided, and wearing a trenchcoat. "Why?"

"We had a bet on what would snap you out of it," Knox explained. "I bet water, so it looks like I lost."

"And I," said the Joker, giving Crane's hand a squeeze, "won, 'cause I bet taking ya outside. So pay up, men."

Knox gave a resigned shrug, reaching into the trench coat's pockets and pulling out a number of crumpled bills, which he smoothed out before handing them over. The other henchman groaned, but also surrendered his money.

"What did you bet?" Crane asked.

"That you'd tire yourself out."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Well, that's settled," said the Joker, searching through his pockets. Crane guessed he was looking for a place to hold cash that wasn't full of knives. "So I guess you're free to go, comrades."

They turned to leave, Knox giving Joker a final glance. "Have fun with your new Harley, boss."

"His new _what_?" Crane demanded. He wasn't sure exactly what the man had meant to imply, but he doubted it was anything good.

"This one's a little different than that, Knoxy."

"If you say so." They were gone.

"Why did he call me Harley?"

The Joker grinned. "I believe he thinks our relationship is of a, uh, carnal nature."

Crane felt as if he'd been slapped. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't act so shocked. You're pretty, you're obviously gay, and I don't let people share my bed unless I'm, ya know, getting something outta it—"

"You have a girlfriend!"

Joker went into another laughing fit, this one hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Crane watched, annoyed, as the minutes ticked by. "And just what, may I ask, is so funny?" he demanded, once the laughter had lessened enough for his voice to be heard over it.

"Sorry, it's just that—" he dissolved into another fit of giggles. "Ya just totally proved it."

"Proved what?"

"That you're gay."

He sighed. "Oh, really? And you arrived at this conclusion how?"

"Gee, I dunno. Maybe 'cause when I called ya gay, instead of denying it or getting angry, the first thing that popped into your head was that I'd be cheating on Harl if we were together."

Crane tried to pull his hand out of the Joker's grip, but the clown just tightened his hold. "And I suppose that couldn't possibly indicate that I'm unaffected by your petty attempts to anger me, and nothing more?"

"Oh, stop dodging the issue. You're only embarrassing yourself." He took Crane's other hand in his, pulling him forward so there were only inches between them. Crane shuddered, almost imperceptibly. "Seriously, though, are ya or aren'tcha?"

"I fail to see how that's any of your business." He tried pulling back and gave up when the Joker pulled him again, so that their bodies were touching. Well, this couldn't get any more awkward. It was bad enough that he was forced to remain here, as long as the Joker had the antipsychotics, but now he had to deal with having his sexuality brought into question. It really wasn't fair. Yes, life wasn't fair, but just once couldn't it be unfair in a manner that benefitted him?

It didn't help that he honestly did not have an answer to that question. He'd never thought about his orientation before, not really. He'd never been involved seriously involved with anyone, man or woman, nor had he made a habit of lusting after others. Crane barely considered himself a sexual being, so removed was he from the whole thing. Not that he was going to explain all that to the Joker. He wasn't going to dignify this situation by answering.

"Well…" Joker ran a tongue over his lips, his hands trailing upwards from Crane's wrists and interlocking their fingers. "Tech_nic_ally, I guess it's not, but if ya want me to let go anytime soon, you'd probably wanna answer."

"That's an idiotic threat. You can't hold me up here indefinitely; you'll be just as affected by hunger and fatigue as I will." Which, logically, he knew to be true, but it was hard to imagine anything affecting the Joker. It was almost as if he was more of a force of nature than a human being. Only nature didn't hold people captive on rooftops, asking stupid questions.

"Maybe. Ya wanna test that theory?"

"Why do you care, anyway?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the irritation from his voice. "Even if I am, you made it more than clear the last time we worked together that you're not. I could be absolutely flaming or straight as an arrow; it wouldn't make any difference to you."

"I never said I was straight," Joker said, surprised enough to let go of his hands. "I don't fit into any neat little category, I'm whatever I want. What I said was that it wouldn't, uh, work out between us."

"Whatever." Crane turned before he could be taken hold of again, and made his way back to the fire escape. "It doesn't matter what I am, because you're not my type."

"Oh, say it ain't so, honey!" the Joker cried in mock despair, hands over his heart as he followed.

"It's 'honey' now?"

He shrugged. "It's whatever I feel like. What don't ya like about me Jonny? Is it the scars?"

_It's always the scars with him, isn't it? _The scars weren't even that bad, at least, not in comparison to that Arkham patient with half his face burnt off. "No, it's more the breaking my arm, using me as Bat Bait, keeping me hostage, slapping around my best friend stuff."

"Harley doesn't mind that."

"Harley's _insane. _Entirely because of your influence."

"Well, that's debatable. I could say her hold on reality wasn't that great to begin with, if I could push her over the edge that easy. Anyway, I'm not holding ya hostage. You're free to go any time ya want."

"Right." Crane opened the apartment door and stepped inside. "Because being free and mad is such an enticing prospect."

"Hey, if ya can't be bothered to take your pills from me by force, or steal some more, that's hardly my fault."

Crane ignored him, taking in his surroundings. It seemed the coffee table was capable of supporting things after all; a notebook lay open on it, pages covered in his small, slanted writing. He recalled, now that he thought about, writing notes for quite some time before the Joker asked him what he was up to, but he did not recall how the room became so clean, or how the sofa sitting in the middle of the floor or the TV in the corner had come to be there. He'd always known when he focused on something, he blocked everything else out, but this was the first time he'd realized to what extent he did that.

Joker was still talking behind him, something about his lack of action to free himself showing his subconscious desire to stay or some such nonsense, which Crane half listened to as he made his way back into the bedroom. "What time is it?" he asked, cutting his companion off mid-sentence.

The Joker looked annoyed, but pulled out his watch anyway as he sat down on the bed. "About eight thirty. Why?"

"Because I need the pills again."

"Ah." He leaned against the pillows, arms resting behind his head. "That's nice."

Crane didn't even bother to try counting to ten this time. "Well?"

"See, I've been thinking," Joker said, examining his nails. "Since whether or not ya get this is entirely up to me, I think I'm gonna make things a little more interesting. Ya want the pills now? You're gonna have to kiss me to get 'em."

It was about a minute before his brain could form words to respond. "_What_?!"

"Ya heard me."

"Why?"

"'Cause ya never answered my question from before. So I want ya to kiss me, 'cause I think I'll get the answer from how ya kiss."

Crane sulked, though he would have been too proud to admit it, glaring at the clown, arms crossed. "That is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard. You're just going to say I'm gay because I kissed you."

Joker shrugged. "That's a definite possibility. The question is, kitten, how bad do ya want these?" He produced the bottle from his pocket, gently waving it back and forth.

_Jesus Christ. _Had he died without realizing it and ended up in hell? Psychosis couldn't be worse than kissing this maniac. He'd done it once, months ago, against his will, and would like to relive the experience about as much as he'd like to be locked in an interrogation room with Batman and no security cameras. He glared at the Joker, still leaning nonchalantly against the headboard, about to tell him quite colorfully exactly what he thought of him…when he had an idea.

"Fine," he said, with an exasperated sigh, sitting down beside the Joker with the air of a man walking to the gallows.

Behind the black makeup, the clown's eyes widened. "Really? Just like that?"

"Shut up," he said through gritted teeth, leaning forward. "This is bad enough without your commentary."

"You're shaking," the Joker commented, his voice sounding as if he were trying to hold back a giggle.

"Your point? Last time we kissed you threw me across a room."

"Well, now ya know not to bite, don't ya?"

Crane rolled his eyes before shutting them tightly. His mouth barely made contact with the Joker's, just enough to feel the smooth texture of the lipstick there, before he pulled back. "There. Now hand it over."

"Absolutely not."

"What?"

"Ya call that a kiss? That was pathetic. You're gonna have to do a hell of a lot better than that."

"Our lips came in contact, did they not?"

"Well, yeah," Joker said, shaking his head. "But there's more to a kiss than that, kitten, a lot more. Come here."

And before Crane could react, the Joker's hands were on either side of his face, pulling him forward, slamming their mouths into each other. And slamming was the exact word for it; Crane was fairly sure the contact made his teeth cut into his skin. He kept his eyes open as the Joker—was he biting Crane's lips? Yes, biting, not hard but still biting. What in the hell was the appeal of that? He focused on the pills, lying to the sheets on the Joker's right, and raised his own hands, placing them gently on either side of the Joker's face like the Joker was holding him. He didn't respond.

Crane pulled back, abruptly, tightening his grip at the same time and slamming the Joker's head back into the headboard, once, twice, three times. Each time there was a sickening crack, be it from bones cracking or just impact, he wasn't sure. The clown fell back onto the bed, limp, eyes crossed and half closed. Crane couldn't tell if he was conscious or not, but it didn't look as if he'd be getting up anytime soon. "I got what I wanted," he said, taking the pills and putting them in his own pocket. "And so did you. Was it everything you hoped for, _honey_?"

And with that he was running as if pursued by a Batman out of hell, leaping over obstacles in his path as opposed to taking time to avoid them. _I just attacked the Joker, fuck, I just attacked the Joker, he's going to kill me and he's going to take his time. _He heard no footsteps behind him but that hardly mattered, Crane would have freely admitted that he was terrified, and wanted nothing more than to get as far away from here as possible, as fast as he could, and then book a flight to somewhere safely far away, like Fiji. Or Mars.

He threw the door open, not bothering to shut it behind him, not so much running as leaping outside. His feet hit pavement, he chose a direction at random, and ran with all he had.

Which wasn't enough, apparently, because he was caught halfway down the street. He never even heard the Joker coming, all he knew was that one moment he was running, and the next he'd been knocked off his feet, flying forward. He hit the ground hard, one foot twisting wrong beneath him, painfully wrong, enough to make him cry out. There was no time to reflect on it, however, because then the Joker was on top of him, pulling his arm behind his back in a way it was not meant to bend, which was every bit if not more painful.

The Joker glared down at him, his expression worse than any pain Crane was feeling. The last time he'd seen the clown look this angry, a woman had had her face beatened in for testing him. With the Joker's weight pinning him down, the asphalt scraping into his face, and the pain firing from his shoulder and ankle, it was very easy to believe the same would happen to him.

The Joker twisted his arm further, the joint popping out of the socket with a sound even worse than his torturer's head had made against the bed frame, and Crane screamed. "Stupid move, kitten. I bet ya regret it now, don'tcha?"

He was picked up, carried back toward the apartment, the pain coming in waves with each step. His vision swam, head spinning, and he could just make out the Joker saying, "And no, it wasn't everything I hoped for. Left a lot to be desired, really," before he passed out.


	5. Scars

AN: I've been noticing a common worry among reviewers who also read my other fic, _Mad Friends, _namely the relationship itself and the lack of Harley, and decided today's author's note would be a good time to address them. First, Harley fans, don't worry, we'll be hearing from her again!

As for the relationship itself, I don't believe Joker really has any love for Jonathan, or taunts him out of lust. I'm not actually sure if the Joker is even capable of love, at least not in the standard sense of the word. Rather, I see him using the relationship between them as a way to screw with Crane's emotions, much like he messes with everyone else he interacts with, and is only doing so in a romantic way because he knows Crane isn't experienced in love and won't see it coming. Nor do I really see Crane as having much feeling for the Joker, at least not at first, and the romance from his side would come from curiosity, knowing the Joker's up to something but not knowing what.

And now with that novel over, I'd just like to say thank you for the reviews and on with the chapter!

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Crane awoke to find himself lying on his stomach in bed, head turned to the side and against a pillow. As far as he could tell, his arm was back in the socket, though still sore. There was a weight on his legs which he realized, after a moment, could only be the Joker sitting on top of him, and a strange sensation on his back that he couldn't place at first. "Are you…writing on me?"

"Yep. Shut up and don't move, I'm almost done and this is hard enough already."

"Hard?" he repeated, raising a brow. "I've been lying here unconscious." He didn't think he'd been thrashing around in his sleep, or at least he couldn't remember any nightmares. "How hard can that possibly be, unless you're illiterate?"

"Quiet." The Sharpie, or whatever the Joker was using, shoved almost painfully into his skin, and the clown actually sounded offended, albeit lightly. Crane wondered if the man was learning disabled or something similar. "There. Finished."

"Do I even dare to ask what you've written?"

"Scarecrow, Scarecrow, how scary can ya be? You scared all your patients, but ya didn't scare me!" the Joker recited, sliding off of him and onto the mattress.

"And you felt it necessary to write on me why, exactly?" Crane asked, rolling over. He sat up, wincing, and regarded the ankle he'd sprained before. It was wrapped now, the bandages visible from beneath pants he had certainly not been wearing when he passed out. So the clown had taken his clothes off in his sleep. Fabulous. He'd probably become a victim of sexual assault, too.

"I dunno. 'Cause you're there."

"Oh, your logic is stunning. Thank you for explaining, it makes perfect sense now." He spotted a sweater lying on the blanket by his feet and grabbed it, pulling it over his head.

Joker laughed. "I re-located your arm for ya, by the way. You're welcome."

"Seeing as how you're the one who dislocated it to begin with, you'll forgive me if I don't kneel at your feet with gratitude."

"C'mon, Jonny, ya can't hold that against me. Ya _made _me do it, through your actions. Besides, I figure I got the point across, and I won't have to do it anymore if ya don't try running again."

"Because you always had a reason for hitting Harley, right? Beyond 'I was pissed and she was there'?" he asked, glaring. It was bad enough that he was still stuck here, he didn't want to listen to ridiculous attempts at justification.

The Joker wrapped an arm around his shoulder, making the space between them far smaller than Crane would have liked. "Do ya have to be so gloomy all the time? Look, I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us on this, okay? I mean, we're cool, right?"

"Er…no."

"Aw, don't be that way." Joker straightened, letting him go. "Hey, what if I said I had pizza?"

Crane stared at him. _Abrupt shift in discussion much? _Perhaps he wasn't learning disabled, just incredibly ADHD."Pizza?"

"Yeah, I ordered some while ya were out." He slid off the bed, standing. "I'll be right back. I'd say don't go anywhere but, uh," he glanced at Crane's bandaged ankle, "I don't think ya will, right?"

"If only," he muttered, watching the Joker disappear down the hall. He considered making a break for it, though not seriously. He was in pain just sitting there; he didn't want to think about trying to run. Besides, he had enough to work through mentally. _What's he playing at?_ he wondered, thinking back to the kiss last night. The irritating, mock-friendly behavior was nothing new, and it wasn't the first time the Joker had kissed him, but the bizarre focus he'd put on sexuality last night, that was different.

It was entirely possible, of course, that it was just the latest in the Joker's methods of screwing with him. He sincerely _hoped _it was just the latest method of screwing with him, because the other option was unthinkable. And ridiculous. There was no way the Joker was acting on genuine feelings for him; he doubted the Joker had genuine feelings for anyone, aside from his twisted fascination with Batman. No, this had to be some sort of joke, something like "Make Crane question his sexuality and then laugh at him for being so gullible." Yes, something like that.

Well, whatever he was planning, it wouldn't work. Crane could play mind games every bit as well as the Joker; that's what the Scarecrow did, after all. Just because he was coming from what he considered a romantic viewpoint, something Crane wasn't especially versed in, didn't mean he was going to fall for it. What did the clown expect, him to go starry-eyed and weak in the knees for the maniac, just so he could laugh in his face? Well, Batman would expose his identity before _that _would happen. He doubted he'd ever feel anything beyond contempt for the Joker, attractiveness aside.

_Wait…did I just think of _the Joker _as attractive? What the hell? _Dear God, he had to get out of this place, as soon as he could walk again. It was warping his mind. He was casting about for something to slam his head against, to beat such thoughts out of his skull, when the Joker returned, plate in hand.

"It's got anchovies," he said, dropping onto the bed next to Crane and handing it over.

"So?"

"So ya like anchovies," Joker said. "And I remember 'cause every Italian Night in Arkham, ya bitch like a little girl that they don't have that. Don't try to deny it."

He sighed, staring at the pizza and wondering whether or not it was drugged. "I don't 'bitch', I merely comment on the lack of variety that—"

"Replace 'comment' with 'bitch', and I completely agree. Are ya gonna eat that or do I have to feed it to ya?"

He took a bite and refused to admit to himself that it tasted good. "Satisfied?"

"Yep." The Joker leaned to his side, head on Crane's shoulder. "So we're friends again, right?"

"You almost broke my arm!"

"And ya almost broke _my _skull, which is a hell of a lot worse, but I got over it. C'mon, I gave ya pizza, didn't I?"

This "logic" was making his head hurt. "I can't be bribed with food, I'm not five."

"Are we talking emotionally here? 'Cause if so, ya totally are. Possibly mentally too. I've heard you're a genius but, uh, for someone so smart, ya do a lot of stupid things."

"Wanting freedom is stupid?"

"The way ya went about it, yeah. But let's not argue." He pursed his lips, accentuating the Chelsea grin, eyes darting as he thought. "So…ya got a lot of scars, don'tcha?"

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

The sarcasm was either lost or the Joker chose to ignore it. Almost certainly the latter. "Well, ya do. Sorry, but I couldn't help but notice. I know that big one on your leg came from an iron…the ones on your back came from a belt, right?"

Crane could not think of one person he less wanted to discuss childhood abuse with. "Most of them, yes. That and birds."

"Birds?" Joker repeated, his tone mixed between amusement and confusion.

He did not elaborate.

"Huh. Well, I gave ya the ones on your stomach and the ones on your hands are self-inflicted, which leaves the ones here." His hand brushed the burn marks on Crane's cheek. "These are my favorite."

He tried pulling away, to no avail. "You have favorites?"

"Yep. And I'm pretty sure these are from Bats, so they're automatically best." He was still stroking Crane's face, a strange sensation since he couldn't actually feel in the places the burn had occurred.

"Who said they're from Batman?"

The Joker's hand dropped instantly. "They're not?" he said, sounding betrayed. "Where'd they come from, then?"

Like he was going to answer that. 'I got tazered in the face by that assistant DA you murdered with no effort what so ever, that's how.' Oh, that wouldn't result in hours of ridicule, definitely not. "What made you assume they came from Batman?"

"'Cause ya told Harley he ripped your mask off when he poisoned ya in Arkham. I thought ya got 'em then."

"He didn't pull my mask off with _fire_," Crane said, with a slight smirk. "Surely you can recognize that these are burn scars, can't you?"

"Shut up." The Joker slapped him across the face, though light enough that it didn't even sting. "They could have been extreme friction burns."

"That's not even physically possible."

"Since when does Bats care about physics? He flies, remember?"

"He does not fly." This was like speaking to a child. An insanely strong, deadly child. "He glides."

"That's what he wants ya to think," Joker said, voice heavy with admiration. "The man has powers mere mortals can only dream of. Anyway, your scars aren't nearly as interesting anymore." He shot a scrutinizing stare at Crane's face, shaking his head. "Just disappointing."

"They're the exact same as they've always been."

"But they're not Bat-scars."

"Whatever." He held in a sigh. "I don't like them, anyway."

"Whaddya mean ya don't like them?" Joker asked, suddenly serious. He straightened up, making steady, unblinking eye contact. "Ya have to appreciate your scars, Jonny. They're important. Know why people scar? To remind 'em of where they've been, or help 'em learn from their mistakes. Your scars are a part of ya, ya can't just ignore 'em."

Well, that was more philosophical than he'd thought the Joker could be. "You just said you didn't like them."

"Yeah, but they're not mine. It's okay for me to say it."

"You like your own scars, then?"

"I _love _my scars." Joker had hold of Crane's hand, suddenly, lifting it up and trailing his fingers across the twisted, uneven skin, and over his lips. It was smoother than he'd expect, though that may have had been due to the lipstick. His hand came away coated in red. "Ya like 'em?"

He had never before had an opinion on someone's disfigurement. "They're fine, I guess."

"Wanna know how I got 'em?" the Joker asked, grinning widely.

"No." He wasn't about to fall for that. Everyone knew you did not ask the Joker about his scars, not unless you wanted to die. Or get a matching set.

The clown pouted. "Are ya sure?"

"Very." Crane thought it wise to change the subject before he decided to tell him anyway. "Do you have a working phone now?"

"Yep." The Joker produced a cell phone from his pocket, this one black and coverless. "Why? Who do ya wanna call?"

"My chemical suppliers. You do want this toxin, don't you?"

"Ah, yeah." He handed the phone over, and Crane flipped it open and dialed, hoping Joker didn't mind that he was smearing the buttons with lipstick. He found himself biting on the nails of his free hand as it rang, unable to remember when exactly he'd started doing it. _God, let them have this stuff and let them have it soon. _The sooner he could make this drug, hopefully, the sooner he'd be out of here, off to do his own research. Never having to deal with the Joker again. Appealing didn't begin to cover it. _Just let them have it fast. Please._

Of course, because nothing could ever go right for him, they'd have it in three weeks.


	6. Phone Call

AN: This chapter was inspired by an absolutely brilliant piece of _B_a_tman: The Animated Series _fanart that can be found here: http: // crispy-gypsy. deviantart. com/ art/ Mad-Hatter-Girl-Problems-74420098?offset=0. Just remove the spaces in the address and you should be able to see it. A million thanks to Cripsy-Gypsy for such inspiration.

Also, chapter four has been slightly edited. Nothing major, I just realized I left one of Crane's lines out when he slammed Joker into the headboard, and thus the following dialogue did not make much sense, so it's been repaired now. Thanks so much to for pointing that out!

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Two days later and they were both about to snap.

Joker refused to leave the apartment, as he didn't trust Crane not to make a break for it when he was gone. So he stayed there all day, instead of doing something sensible like chaining his captive up when he went out; which Crane had actually suggested. Well, begged, nearly. Being strapped to a bed could not be worse than dealing with the Joker all day long. Especially as the Joker did not handle boredom well.

The first day had passed with the pair playing roughly eight thousand games of I Spy, all of which focused on the same five or so objects, since the room was so empty. In between the games, the Joker had dragged Crane into the living room to watch the news, only to shut it off in disgust when he discovered they weren't the focus. Well, after watching a few idiotic talk shows, just to annoy his companion.

It wouldn't be so bad, Crane had decided, if he were able to get up and walk around. But as he was still injured and the Joker hadn't provided crutches, that was next to impossible. He'd had to lean on the Joker for support every time he needed to get somewhere, which the clown found amusing to no end. It was a long, annoying process that he didn't care to repeat unless he absolutely had to, so he was reduced to lying in bed, praying for death.

The second day was not off to a better start, he decided, pulling a pillow over his face while the Joker sat beside him, reciting poetry.

"The farmer made a scarecrow, and stuffed it full of straw. He put it in the cornfield, but the crows laughed 'Haw-caw-caw!' One crow sat upon Scarecrow's hat; he was not scared at all. That scarecrow did not scare away a single crow all fall!"

"Why do you know so many scarecrow poems anyway?" he muttered, wishing the pillow would asphyxiate him.

"'Cause it annoys ya. I do it with everyone. I know enough crappy riddles to write a book, just because they piss Nigma off."

"That's friendly."

"Hey, it's not my fault if people let me get under their skin. Like yourself, kitten, if ya really didn't want the stuff I say about ya being gay to have an impact, it wouldn't."

_Right. Your making me kiss you is entirely my own fault. Clearly._ He didn't answer, just lay there hoping the Joker would stay quiet long enough for him to fall asleep.

Of course that didn't happen. Less than a minute later, the clown poked him in the ribs. He tried not to jerk back. The last thing he needed was Joker finding out he was ticklish, on top of everything else. "Hey, Jonny?"

"What?"

"I'm bored."

"How sad for you."

The pillow was pulled off his face. Crane blinked against the light a few times, holding in a sigh.

"Don'tcha wanna do something?"

"Like what? We've done everything there is to do."

"Well, not _everything._" The Joker reached out, stroking Crane's hair. "We could pick up where we left off the other night—before ya tried to kill me, that is."

"Somehow I doubt that would end well," he said, stiffening as Joker lay down beside him. "So for the sake of our already tenuous friendship, I suggest we don't try."

"You're no fun."

He didn't answer, turning his attention to counting the ceiling tiles for the millionth time. God, he missed Harley. She made everything more tolerable, even the Joker. At least, if she'd been there the Joker would have had someone else to annoy, and then maybe all the hitting on him would stop. But no, she was still at Arkham, and probably rather pissed at the both of them right now. Not that he could blame her. If he was in her position, he'd be angry too. Of course, there was no way he'd ever be in her position, because he'd never have been gullible enough to fall for the Joker, but he felt he could safely assume she'd feel betrayed.

Joker poked him in the ribs again. "What are ya so frowny about?"

"Nothing."

"Ya miss Harley, right?"

_Joy. Now he's a mind reader. What next? _"Yes."

"Me too. She's a much better conversationalist, no offense. Ya wanna talk to her?"

Crane turned onto his side, facing the clown. He didn't look like he was joking. "We can't talk to her. She's still in Arkham."

"Like that's gonna stop me?"

"Are you proposing that we break her out? Because I don't think I'll be of much help there, unable to walk and all."

Joker shook his head. "I was thinking we'd call her." He pulled a phone from his vest, this one a light blue. He seemed to replace them about every day, or as soon as the real owners noted them missing and had them disconnected, Crane guessed. He still wasn't sure if the Joker had a bag of phones somewhere or if the henchmen brought new ones, though.

"We can't just call her. She doesn't have a phone."

"So what? There are phones in Arkham."

He sat up, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "What, we're going to call up the hospital and ask to talk to her? Oh, they'll allow that."

"You're such a pessimist. It'll work."

"It will not." It was at times like these that he was reminded how far out of touch with reality his companion really was.

"Whaddya wanna bet?" Joker asked, grinning. "'Cause I bet that we can, and if I'm right, I say ya have to kiss me again. For as long as I want. And just to up the stakes, you'll be able to talk to Nigma and Isley too."

On one hand, betting against the Joker was possibly even stupider than betting against the Riddler. On the other hand, there was no way this could work, and he could turn the situation to his advantage. "Well, I say we can't, and if I'm right, you have to shut up with the flirting and kissing and whatnot."

"Okay." The Joker pressed the phone into Crane's hand, still smirking. His eyes glittered, which Crane took as a very bad sign. _Perhaps this wasn't the smartest bet, _he decided, with a note of unease. "Dial Arkham and ask to talk to Leland."

"Fine." He punched the buttons, held the phone to his ear, and tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Of course, there was no way whatever the Joker was planning could be successful. Getting a hold of one inmate over the phone, maybe. But three? Especially three high security patients? There was no way. It simply couldn't be done. Probably.

He was told Leland was in a session, which the Joker had apparently anticipated, and instructed Crane to say that it was urgent. He tried to keep from biting his nails as the call transferred, not wanting to show his apprehension. Joker was always confident, but he was acting so self-assured now that whatever ridiculous scheme he had almost seemed plausible. It couldn't be, but it seemed that way.

The other end of the line clicked. "Hello, this is Joan Leland."

Crane shot a glance to his companion, as if asking 'what the hell do I say now?'

"Your name," Joker whispered, his tone implying that that should be obvious.

"What?" Crane asked, incredulous, covering the mouthpiece with his hand.

"Hello?" Leland asked from the other end.

"Just do it."

He shook his head. _Oh, this is idiotic. _"Hello, Dr. Leland. This is Jonathan."

There was a pause, during which he could almost hear her mind running overtime. "Jonathan Crane?" she asked, almost timidly, after a moment.

He heard no less than four voices in the background, each of them shouting "_What?_"

_Ah. _He straightened up, his emotions a whirlwind of excitement and 'Oh shit, now I have to kiss the Joker.' Which wasn't an emotion, but no emotion seemed sufficient to cover that feeling. _Of course. Wednesdays, group therapy. _He'd forgotten Leland had taken over recently for the previous doctor, who'd quit once the Joker destroyed her will to live. _Well, fuck._

"Gimme the phone!" he could hear Harley shouting in the background, on top of Leland's pleadings for everyone to calm down and the various other voices. There were sounds of a struggle, a cry of pain, and then Harley's voice, breathless, over the line. "Jonathan?"

"Hi, Harley," he said, turning his head so he didn't have to look at the smirk on the Joker's face.

"Jonathan, are you—back off, can't you see I'm talkin' here? I'll give you the phone in a minute, guys, just back off! Jonathan, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"Great, but that's not important—Get off of me, Eddie! Are you with Mistah J?"

"Yes. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Of course I want to—I see what you're doin', Pam, and I'm not givin' you the phone yet. Yeah, throw all the chairs you want, it doesn't matter! Put him on the line _now_, Jonathan."

"Okay." _This should be amusing, _he thought, handing the phone to the Joker. True, he'd be able to win her back in about five seconds, but before those five seconds he hoped she'd call him out every bit as much as he deserved.

"Hello, Harley-girl! How's my b—"

"Screw you, clown!" Her voice was still perfectly audible and just as enraged as Jonathan had expected. "We are through, you hear me? Finished! Over! Done! You think you can just ditch me like that and expect me to forgive you?"

The Joker nodded but wisely remained silent.

"Well, it's not goin' to happen, got it? We are—Jervis, get your hands off me or I'll feed that hat to you—it's over, Mistah J, and I'm sorry it ever started!"

"Harley, baby—"

"Don't you 'baby' me, you manipulative son of a—"

"Harley, I didn't think ya _wanted _to be with me. That's why I didn't break you out."

_There's no way she'll fall for _that. _No way, _Jonathan thought, but there was only silence from the phone. _Right_?

"What do you mean, you thought I didn't want you?"

"Ya didn't talk to me for a whole week before I left." It was unnerving how he did that; he actually sounded hurt. His expression, however, was cocky as always. Bastard he may be, but Crane had to grudgingly admit he was brilliant at it. "I thought it was your way of saying things were over. That's why I left, to respect your wishes." He paused, a note of hope in his voice when he spoke again. "Ya weren't mad?"

"Of course I wasn't mad." She had positively melted, judging from her tone. "Puddin', I was in the infirmary for a week, with the flu. I told you that, remember? The morning you left, when I got back. How did you miss that?"

"I thought that was your way of protecting my feelings, 'cause ya didn't want to tell me we were finished. But…ya still love me, then?"

_For the love of God. _Crane shook his head. _Come on, Harley, you can't be dumb enough to fall for this. _

"Of course I still love you, puddin'. You're not angry with me, are you?"

_Okay, maybe you can._

"No, baby doll, ya know I can't hold a grudge."

"Oh, Mistah J—"

Crane could hear struggling again, then Nigma's voice. "We've got the phone on speaker now, so there shouldn't be any more interruptions."

"Calm down, everyone, please!" Leland now. "Joker, are you still on the line?"

"Yep. So how are things at the madhouse? Hey, give my condolences to the families of those guards I took out, okay? Ya can even send flowers, if ya want. I'll pay ya back."

In the background, Harley giggled. Leland sighed. "Could you give the phone back to Jonathan, please?"

"Fine."

Crane fou**n**d the phone shoved in his face. "Hello?"

The response was almost deafening. All of the patients, shouting at once.

"Jonathan, are you all right?"

"He hasn't broken any of your bones again, has he?"

"Are you still takin' the medicine?"

"The adventures first; explanations take such a dreadful time!"

He held the phone away from his head for a few seconds, ears ringing, before answering. "I'm fine, unbroken, still on the pills, and haven't had any adventures yet to speak of."

"Jonathan?" Leland asked. "Jonathan—hush, everyone—dear, this is important. Do you know where you are?"

"In an apartment." He rolled his eyes. What did she think, he was going to just give up their location because she asked? True, calling up the hospital wasn't quite a normal action for runaways, but even so.

"Are you still in the city?"

"Yes."

"Do you know which part of the city?"

"The island part?" He was careful to leave his tone just innocent enough to make her wonder whether he was being deliberately unhelpful, or just oblivious. The frustration in her voice was the best thing he'd heard all week. Not as good as fear, but still funny.

"Where in the—"

"How are things in the outside?" Isley asked. She sounded more entertained than worried now.

"Great. I haven't actually been outside much," Well, that was the understatement of the year, "but the weather's fantastic. You guys would love it."

"Hey, if Mistah J starts givin' you a hard time, you tell him I said to back off, okay?" Harley broke in, over Leland's valiant attempts to bring the conversation back to order. "I'm sorry I can't be there with you, but this could be a nice experience, you know? You might become friends."

"I'll keep that in mind." _Like hell we will._

"What are you up to?" asked Nigma. He could hear Leland sighing. It was like Christmas had come early.

"The usual. Plotting the destruction of Gotham, ordering loads of dangerous chemicals, eating pizza, that sort of thing."

"Dangerous chemicals?" Leland repeated, sounding horrified. "Jonathan, what exactly are you planning?"

"Oh, things," he said casually. Beside him, the Joker buried his face in the pillows, giggling.

"Explain yourself!"

"Calm down, Tetch. If you really want to know what we're up to, I'm sure Nigma can puzzle it out."

"Jonathan." Leland was back, after a moment of shushing everyone else. "Listen, dear. I think it would be in your best interests to come back to the hospital, the both of you. Everyone here misses you very much—"

The Joker had reemerged, taking the cell phone from Crane. "Thanks so much for the invitation, doc, but we're a little busy right now. Villainy's pretty time consuming and all. Rain check? Anyway, it's been fun but we've got plans to lay and Bats to conquer, so TTFN!"

"Love you, puddin'!" Harley shouted, before the line went dead.

Crane found himself giggling uncontrollably. Calling up old friends to casually discuss villainous schemes? Not so amusing. Doing it when those friends were all in an asylum? Funny. Doing it with the psychiatrist in the room and irritated as hell? Hilarious.

He wasn't sure how long he'd have gone on laughing, had it not been for the tap on his shoulder. Probably until he cried. As it was, he turned his head to find the Joker sitting beside him, grinning from ear to ear. And promptly remembered the bet.

_Shit._


	7. A Feeling Like This

AN: Why yes, this chapter was written while listening to Faith Hill's "This Kiss" on repeat. Yes, I know I'm messed up.

The first big kissing scene. Being asexual and thus as unskilled as a nun in the ways of romance, I'm sure this is about as cute/flirtatious as reading a textbook description of lobotomies. Sorry about that.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Well, he supposed there was a lesson to be learned here, that being 'Do not, under any circumstances, bet against the Joker.' And valuable as that message was, he found it hard to focus on the moral of the story with the Joker still inches away, waiting.

"I don't suppose there's any way I can talk you out of—"

And then he was on his back, Joker pinning his wrists over his head. "Hell no. We had a deal." Still holding Crane down with one hand, the clown pulled off his glasses, throwing them to the foot of the bed. "Besides, you're absolutely hilarious when you're this flustered."

_What have I done to deserve this? _Technically, if he wanted to be honest with himself, this fine mess was all his fault. He wasn't in the mood for self-honesty, though. There would be plenty of time to reflect on his idiocy when he wasn't pinned to a bed. "All right, let's get this over with."

"Don't be so enthusiastic, Jonny. Mood killer much?" Joker frowned, shifting his position so that he was sitting on top of his captive. It did not help to improve Crane's mood. "God, relax, okay? I'm not gonna hurt ya."

_No, just tongue-molest me. Which is probably worse._ "Oh, sorry, I seem to be having a bit of trouble calming down just now. Can't imagine why." It was bad enough that this was going to happen, did they have to drag it out? He nearly told the Joker to start already, until he realized that would be encouraging this and shut up.

"Hey, look at me." A gloved hand was on his face, gently turning his head until his eyes met the Joker's. They were dark, seeming almost black with the makeup around them, wide and unblinking. "_Relax_, kitten. You might as well try and enjoy it."

_Like hell._ His mind, grateful for any distraction, cast about for a smart remark, and he had nearly opened his mouth to reply when the Joker's lips pressed against his own.

It didn't hurt.

That was a rather ridiculous observation, given that kissing wasn't _supposed _to hurt, but giving whom the kiss was coming from, it wasn't that absurd. Their first and second kisses had ended with Crane getting slapped and Joker nearly breaking his skull, respectively. He'd been expecting something that drew blood, at least.

This though, this was…gentle was a word he'd never expected to use in regards to anything the Joker did, but here it was. And it wasn't entirely unpleasant, much to his surprise and chagrin. That is to say, it wasn't enjoyable, exactly, but it didn't inspire disgust. The feel of the Joker's mouth pushing against his own felt…well, almost nice. Not that that stopped the sheer mindfuck going on in his head, but the sensation wasn't bad.

_What is he playing at?_ Crane wondered, as the Joker's hands ran through his hair, once again with restraint he would not have thought the clown capable of. This didn't make sense. It wasn't the Joker's style; it wasn't nearly rough enough. _He probably means to lull me into a false sense of security before he bites my tongue off, _he decided, shuddering at the thought. The Joker's hands cupped his face again, holding him still.

His mouth opened slightly, as a response to the unexpected warmth of the gloves touching his skin, and the Joker took that as an invitation to open his own. _Oh fuck._ If there was one thing he did not want—more than what was already going on, that is—it was the Joker's tongue in his mouth. Especially given the taste, which was exactly as he'd thought it would be, a sickly-sweet, infectious flavor that he did not like at all. _So this is what gingivitis tastes like. Wonderful._

Aside from the taste, though, it wasn't as awful as he'd expected. Crane had always thought French kissing to be absolutely disgusting, little more than an exchange of massive amounts of salvia. It wasn't. Not that having someone else's tongue explore his mouth was fantastic, but much like the rest of the kiss, it didn't make him want to kill himself, which was something.

He did not know how long they stayed that way, though it seemed about three minutes at least. Long enough for him to start suffocating, anyway. He'd just remembered he could still breathe through his nose when the Joker pulled away, pressing their lips together again and biting, gently, before sitting up. "You know, you're supposed to kiss back, not lie there like a dead thing."

"I believe," he said, breathless, "that the terms of the bet only covered you kissing me. I'm not obligated to retaliate."

Joker sighed, stroking his companion's face. "Fine. Though you should really loosen up." He knelt down again, his lips brushing against Crane's neck this time. The sensation made him pull away instantaneously, trying to disguise his laugh as a cough. It didn't take.

He looked up to find the Joker staring at him, head tilted in thought. _Hell._

"You're ticklish?"

"No, I'm n—"

And then the Joker was on top of him, hands relentless against his ribs and mouth back on his neck. "You totally are," he said, with a giggle audible even over Crane's near scream of a laugh. If the convulsions of the body against him affected him in the slightest, he didn't show it. "Well, this is fun." His tone implied that he was thinking of all the ways to abuse this new vulnerability, which was just fantastic.

"G-get off!" Crane gasped, tears coming to his eyes.

"Kiss me back, then."

"F-fine! Just stop!"

He quit as abruptly as he'd begun, pushing his lips against Crane's again, forcing his mouth open. Hating himself almost as much as he hated the Joker, Crane did kiss back, finding his tongue brushing against the scars inside the clown's mouth. He'd always known the scars carried on to the inside, of course, but actually feeling them was unnerving. He kept it up for as long as he could manage, a minute or less, probably, before pulling away. "Satisfied?"

"For now, yeah." Joker rolled off of him, managing to keep a straight face for about five seconds before cracking up. "That was hilarious. Who ever heard of a ticklish super villain?"

"Oh, shut up." That was it; once he had the chemicals to make this laughing gas, the Joker was getting a lungful. Oh, he'd probably just brush off the effects, or even enjoy them, but that wasn't about to stop Crane.

Joker stood, walking out of the room, his laugh echoing down the hall. Crane watched until he was sure the man was out of earshot, then fell back against the bed cursing in every language he knew and several he didn't. It was bad enough that he'd been stupid enough to agree to the bet, worse that he'd had to kiss the Joker. The clown discovering one of his most idiotic vulnerabilities wasn't helping either.

But the absolute worst of it, undoubtedly, was that he wasn't completely disgusted. The kiss itself, loathe to admit it though he was, hadn't been bad, just the knowledge of who it was coming from. The idea that he hadn't been utterly repulsed, that he'd almost enjoyed it, at parts, well, that made him want to choke himself for his idiocy. _That's what he wants, stupid, to trick you into thinking you feel something. It was nothing, and it absolutely was _not _pleasant._

He was still cursing when the Joker returned. "You're bilingual?"

"When it comes to the four letter word vocabulary, yes."

The Joker sat down beside him, the motion gently rocking the mattress. He reached a hand toward Crane and smirked when he flinched. "Hey, it's cool. I'm done for now, all right?"

"Then what are you doing?" he asked, stiff as always, and went even more rigid as he felt a warm washcloth pressed against his face.

"Cleaning off the lipstick." He scrubbed lightly, his own makeup still a smeared mess, from what Crane could see. "Bright red isn't something you pull off well, I'm sad to say."

"Oh, I'm absolutely heartbroken."

He laughed. "C'mon, what are you so mad for? Fair's fair, you're the one who agreed to the bet." He paused, tilting his head again. "Unless that's what you're pissed about. Look, everyone has stupid moments, you can't beat yourself up over 'em."

"I'm sorry, are _you_ of all people trying to tell me about healthy coping strategies?" Great. So the homicidal maniac was a psychiatrist now.

"Hey. I happen to be a very well-adjusted individual. It's the rest of the world with the problem, not me."

"Right." Crane wondered if he actually believed the things he said, or simply made them up to mess with people. If it were the former, that would be intriguing, had it come from anyone else. As things were, he did not want to think about what an interesting study the Joker would make. He wanted to blast him with fear toxin and laugh as he screamed.

Not that he'd actually try that. Because that would be suicide. He could dream, though.

"Don't be so sad. It wasn't all bad, was it? I betcha liked it, even if you're too stuck up to say so."

"Uh-huh. Being held down by a psychotic and invaded was so delightful, I don't think." He glared with as much disgust as he could manage at the Joker. Given that he couldn't actually focus on the man without his glasses, that wasn't much.

"If you didn't enjoy it, you wouldn't be so defensive."

He sat up, taking his glasses from the edge of the bed and ramming them on, almost painfully hard. "I'm not defensive, I'm pis—"

The Joker was kissing him again, suddenly. Only for a second; he pulled away before Crane could slap him, grinning as always. "You're blushing."

"Your point?"

"My point is, you don't have to hide your feelings from me." He licked his lips. "I'm not gonna judge ya. And I'm not telling you what to do here, just suggesting: I think you'd be a lot happier if you came out of the closet."

And then he was off, before Crane could find something to throw at him, giggling all the way down the hall.

_Stupid egotistical bastard. _Forget self-loathing, he doubted Batman himself could anger him any more than the Joker was doing now. _Thinks the whole world revolves around him. Kidnaps me and dislocates my shoulder and then has the gall to try and suggest I have a thing for him. _

It was almost funny, how idiotic that notion was. Almost, but not quite. _Me, attracted to him? I'd rather have open-heart surgery without anesthesia. God, like I'd ever be attracted to _that _disgusting waste of human flesh. Besides, how would Harley take it?_

…_Wait, what?_ What did it matter what Harley would think? It was never going to happen. Never. The entire idea was absurd to the point of stupidity. He did _not _have feelings for the clown, no matter how good at kissing he was. _If he was, _Crane reminded himself, shaking his head as if to beat the thoughts out. _If. It's not like I have a lot to compare from. And it doesn't matter. Kissing ability and appearance aside—not that I think he's attractive, because I don't—he has no effect on me whatsoever. None._

He repeated it mentally, like a mantra to ward such ridiculous feeling away. _No effect. No effect. _Maybe, if he repeated it enough, it would start to work. It had better.

AN: I see Crane as having suppressed pretty much any romantic feelings he's had in life, as they'd just get in the way, so when he lusts/crushes, he does it hard.

As for why I felt the need to make the Master of Fear ticklish, I really don't know.


	8. Plans, Or Lack Thereof

AN: Major thanks to Laura, for pointing out the whole affect/effect thing I have since corrected. And to think I call myself an English major. I hung my head in shame for a bit and thought about reciting some Hail Marys as penance, until I realized that had nothing to do with grammar and used "I Before E" instead. Okay, so none of that happened. But I thought about it.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Crane decided to handle this less than welcome emotional development the same way he handled any such situation: sleeping as much as possible and pretending the issue didn't exist in the time he spent awake. Easier said than done, when one was living with the Joker; he'd lost count of how many times over the next week he awoke to find the man braiding his hair or something equally ridiculous.

Still, slowly as the time went, eventually seven days passed, and his sprained ankle had healed enough to make walking without assistance possible. Which made escape that much more possible. Which was the only thought keeping him from going mad.

Unlikely, yes, extremely unlikely, but at least possible. And he figure out something that might work this time, use a plan he had more than five seconds to come up with. Maybe the Joker wouldn't see it coming. All right, that was even more implausible than getting away with it, but he could dream. Besides, getting injured again, as long as it wasn't too severely, would be a small price to pay for a shot at getting out of here. New toxins or not, he would lose what little grip on sanity he had left if he was forced to spend another two weeks this way; unable to go anywhere or do anything but lie there pathetically and force himself not to find that lip-licking thing the Joker did attractive. Not that he thought it was, not really, that was just an effect of cabin fever and nothing more. Because if it was anything more, which it wasn't, he may just have to commit ritualistic suicide.

He made his way into the living room, making note of any possible routes outside on the way. Aside from the windows, it seemed the only way out was through the front door. And, as fate would have it, since his last attempt at running away the door had been affixed with an interior lock that would only open with a key. Lovely. _I suppose I must have been Hitler or something in a past life, to have to go through all this._ With a sigh he sat down on the couch beside the Joker, who'd watched him make that discovery with an ever-widening smile. "When did you do that?"

"Three days ago."

"And I suppose you have the only key?"

"Of course."

"Lovely." He supposed he'd have to escape through a window now, and probably soon. Otherwise he may well wake up in a few days to find those locked as well.

"I don't see what you're so mad about," the Joker said, draping an arm over Crane's shoulders. "It's safer for you to stay inside. Look how hurt you got last time you went out."

"That was entirely _your _fault."

"I remember it differently."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"You know what your problem is, kitten?" Joker asked, leaning in far too close for comfort. "You're too serious. Way too serious. Do you even _try _to enjoy yourself, or do you just wake up every morning and say 'I think I'll be miserable today'?"

"Excuse me if I don't like being locked up."

"You're a _scarecrow_, Jonny. Scarecrows aren't supposed to move around, they're supposed to be nailed to posts. Be glad I didn't try that."

He considered arguing, but decided to save himself the migraine and return to the bedroom instead. He lay on the bed for several hours before sleep came, memorizing the abstract pattern on the sheets and thinking of the many, many ways he'd like to repay the Joker for all this, should he ever gain a position of power over the clown.

When he awoke, it was dark outside. Lacking a watch, he couldn't be sure of the time, but it felt like the middle of the night, and he'd found his guesses about the hour were usually correct. Which meant the Joker could be asleep, which meant a chance at escape, or at least a chance to search the apartment for things that could be useful to aid in a breakout. Joker wasn't in the bed, but that wasn't necessarily a sign that he was awake somewhere. About every other night he ended up sleeping on the couch, whether out of a desire to be alone or merely falling asleep there, Crane wasn't sure.

He stood, cautiously, and made his way to the windows, trying to avoid stepping on the boards that creaked. Given the fine state this building was in, however, that turned out to be nearly every board, but he felt he did a reasonable job at keeping things quiet. He hoped, anyway. Not that it mattered, because the bedroom windows turned out to be impossible to open. Either through age or adverse weather conditions, he couldn't tell, the wood of the window frames had been warped badly enough to force the panes into place, not budging so much as an inch. Fantastic. Now the house itself was conspiring against him.

Holding in a sigh, he made his way toward the bathroom, hoping the window in there had fared the trials of time better. The living room light was off, another good indication the Joker was asleep in there, so he pulled the bathroom door closed, as quietly as possible, before trying anything.

This window frame appeared to be newer, and made of an entirely different wood. He supposed the window had broken at some point and the frame had to be replaced with it. It still took a ridiculous amount of force to open it, though, complete with a cringe-inducing, grating sound which indicated it hadn't been opened in a good ten years or so. It made him freeze, afraid to even breathe for fear of waking the Joker. As the minutes passed, however, he heard no movements besides his pounding heartbeat, and went on, sliding the pane the rest of the way up.

There was a screen on the other side of the glass, so rusted it practically screamed 'tetanus,' but it seemed it would be easy enough to kick out of place. After that, it was home free. True, he didn't have the pills in his possession, which was annoying, but he could always get more. He doubted Arkham's security had improved that much in his absence. Even if it had, there were still pharmaceutical companies to be robbed. He straightened up, just about to kick the screen out of the frame when a flicker of movement from the mirror caught his eye.

Crane turned his head, just barely. In his peripheral vision, he saw the reflection of the shower curtain sliding back to reveal the Joker standing there, smirking at him. In the split second after his mind processed that image, his heart skipped a beat and he had the sense to put up his hands in defense before the clown pounced.

Mercifully, he didn't feel the hard blows he'd been expecting, but rather, the Joker's hands against his ribs again, sending him into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Not that this was much better. He found himself pinned between the Joker's body and the wall, completely defenseless, enduring the torture for the better part of two minutes before he could summon enough control to slap his assailant, hard.

As Crane was not surprised to discovered, the blow had no effect, other than moving Joker away from him. He was laughing as always, his makeup smudged where Crane's hand had hit his face.

"Stop doing that," Crane managed, still catching his breath. "It's not funny."

"Gonna have to disagree with you there, scaredy cat. It's hilarious." If the clown was even angry about the new escape attempt, he didn't show it. Crane wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Most likely bad, as nothing was ever good where the Joker was concerned.

"No, it's _torture._"

Joker rolled his eyes. "Now you're just being ridiculous."

"Tell that to Lovecraft," he said, annoyed, crossing his arms.

His companion's face went blank. "Who?"

_Christ. _It was bad enough being held captive by a sociopathic terrorist. A sociopathic terrorist who didn't read, that was just insult to injury. "H.P. Lovecraft." He didn't know why he bothered. Such classic horror would be wasted on this idiot anyway. "'The Shadow over Innsmouth', 'The Rats in the Walls', that Lovecraft?"

The Joker thought about it, licking his lips as he did. "I remain in the dark."

Crane sighed. "'The Necronomicon'? 'The Call of Cthulhu'?"

There was a spark of recognition in those dark eyes. "Ah, Cthulhu, yeah. I know that guy. What about him?"

Why was it always Cthulhu people remembered? He was terrifying, yes, but so was everything else Lovecraft had ever written. Oh well. "He wrote about these creatures he saw in his nightmares. Night-gaunts, they were called. These winged, faceless abominations that would kidnap people, and they had longed, barbed tails that they used to tickle their victims into submission."

Joker stared. "That is, quite possibly, the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"It's not stupid; it's terrifying."

"If you're twelve, maybe."

Typical. If it didn't jump out and slash you in the Achilles tendon these days, people didn't find it scary. Idiots. "Whatever. Have you been standing in that shower all day?"

"Nah. Only for a few minutes, I came in here when I heard you get up. It was incredibly obvious you'd try leaving again, sorry. You can't disguise your emotions at all." He crossed to the window and shut it. "Is being here really so horrible?"

"Do I even have to answer that?"

"Look, Jonny, I've been nice to you so far. _Very_ nice, considering how you haven't returned the favor at all. But I feel this may be a good time to, uh, remind ya that I don't have to be. I've been lenient about your attempted breakouts up until now, but try it again, and I'll find an axe and go Annie Wilkes on you."

Annie Wilkes. He almost smiled. So the man had read some decent horror after all. Or at least watched it. Then he abruptly remembered that that was a threat, and went back to fearing for his life. "Fine. I won't try to leave again."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going stargazing."

"Stargazing?" he repeated drily. He couldn't picture that. Watching stars required an attention span; something the clown did not have, as far as he'd seen.

"Got a problem with that?"

"No."

"Good. I'd invite you to come, but you'd probably try and throw yourself off the roof or something stupid."

_Because suicidal and 'wanting freedom' are the exact same thing. _He shook his head as the Joker brushed past him, opening the door and stepping into the hall. "CanI ask you something?"

He turned. "You just did."

"What do you plan on doing with the laughing gas anyway?" It had been bothering him for a number of days now. No doubt it was something horrible, and while he had no moral objections to that, it would still be nice to know.

The Joker shrugged. "Dunno. I haven't thought about it yet."

Crane tried not to gape. "What?"

"Haven't thought of it yet. I'll let you know when I do. What?" he added, blinking at Crane's incredulous expression, as if he was the one being irrational.

"You kidnapped me to make a toxin you don't even know what you're going to do with yet?"

"Well, yeah. It's what I do. Is that all, or do you want a kiss good night or something?"

Crane blushed, stepping out of the bathroom himself and wandering back to the bedroom, muttering something about how he really should be getting back to sleep. He could tell the Joker was smirking without looking at him.

_So I'm making a deadly chemical for no reason, _he reflected, lying on the bed and staring up at nothing in particular. _And enduring all of this crap because of it. Great. That's just great. _He tried not to dwell on it, closing his eyes and waiting for sleep. There was no point in dragging himself down over things he couldn't change.

Which was exactly what he tried to tell himself the following morning, when he awoke to find he'd been snuggling against the Joker in his sleep again. He couldn't change the movements of his unconscious body, he knew, but that didn't make him feel any less betrayed by himself.


	9. One More Day

AN: I'd like to take this time to recommend two of my favorite authors on this site, Twinings and 4ofCups. They're brilliant and you're missing out by not reading their stuff. More recommendations to come!

Sorry about the delay on this chapter, my college was showing _The Dark Knight_, and I don't care how soon it comes out on DVD, I'm not passing up the opportunity to see it on the big screen for free. Not that I ever had to pay for it during the summer. Working at a movie theater rocks. Too bad I never saw it in IMAX though.

Really, random, somewhat strange thought for the day: It occurred to me that my portrayal of the Joker is mostly based on the Nolanverse version, but also partly inspired by my older sister. Weirder than that? She takes it as a compliment. I wonder what that says about our upbringing.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

One more day. Twenty-four hours. One thousand four hundred and forty minutes. Eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds. Minus however long it had taken him to do the math. Whatever, it all boiled down to the same thing. One day left. One more day until they met with his suppliers and got the chemicals necessary to make the laughing gas a reality. Which would lead to his freedom, if there was any justice in this world.

So of course, the minutes were crawling by about as quickly as a quadriplegic could run a marathon.

The past two weeks had been about as pleasant as he imagined the ninth circle of hell would be. Or worse. He'd tried to continue passing the time by sleeping through it, but the Joker had other ideas. For reasons Crane could not begin to fathom, every time during the day that he fell asleep, the clown would wake him up. They didn't even do anything once he'd been awakened either, not usually. Occasionally, there'd be a news broadcast about them or something similar, but those had dropped off immensely once time had gone on. Usually, he just woke him up and then went on his way. Crane guessed it was to annoy him, or some sort of 'if I'm bored and awake then you will be too' kind of logic. What every the reason, it was certainly not appreciated, given that it was hard enough for him to fall asleep in the first place and he had nothing much to do when he was awake besides stare at the walls and wish he was elsewhere.

Even staring at walls, however, was preferable to the times when Joker actually wanted him to do something. Those 'somethings' were always either extremely irritating or soul-scarring. There were only so many times he could play poker or watch the news, or tell the Joker what he thought of his newest pair of boxers, which thankfully had only happened once. Once was enough to last a lifetime.

To make things even more horrible, which he hadn't even thought was possible, the Joker seemed to have noticed Crane's little 'attracted-to-my-psychotic-captor" problem. And, as to be expected, he was exploiting the hell out of it. If he woke up one more time to find the clown hugging him or stroking his face, he might just die. Even that wasn't as traumatizing as the time the Joker had come in wearing only boxers—thus leading to the conversation about whether or not Crane liked them—however. If that happened again, he might just kill himself.

He sighed, wishing he had a watch, or some other method of telling time that didn't involve asking the Joker. He should be happy the clown wasn't bothering him, he knew that, and in a way he was. But it had also made him increasingly paranoid. Whatever the Joker was doing, it couldn't be good. And every second he wasn't being a nuisance could be time spent coming up with some truly horrible method of torment. Thus the rock and the hard place; leave the bedroom and be harassed, or stay and go mad from worry.

He ended up choosing the former. One of these days, curiosity really would be the death of him. He made his way down the hall, resisting the urge to run back and grab a pillow to use as a shield, trying not to look apprehensive. He had a theory that the Joker could smell fear, like a dog. It made no logical sense, but spending time around the clown was slowly destroying the logical part of his mind, he guessed.

Whatever he'd expected as he walked into the living room, it was not to find the Joker sprawled across the sofa, book in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. He'd have thought reading and the Joker would go together about as well as a Catholic and Protestant in Northern Ireland. "Hello, kitten."

"Is there a reason," he asked, sitting, "that you feel the need to make nicknames for everyone?"

"You're the only it bothers. Whaddya want me to call you?"

"You couldn't just call me Jonathan?"

"Nope," he said, after a drink. "Flattered as I am that you wanna be on a first name basis, I like annoying you too much."

Crane chose not to answer, turning his attention to the book in the clown's hand. _Catch-22. _Ah. He supposed he could see the Joker reading that. Now that he knew nothing ominous was going on, he wondered if he could leave the room without interference.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

Well, there was a no. There was no walking away from the Joker once he'd started a conversation. "Nothing." Perhaps if he was a boring enough conversationalist, Joker would lose interest.

"I betcha wanna know where I found boxers with the Bat logo on 'em, don'tcha?"

He'd never wanted to think about those again, actually. It was bad enough to know such a thing existed, worse that he'd found the Joker's thin, scarred body to be oddly beautiful. "Where?"

"They sell 'em all over Gotham, actually. T-shirts and hats and stuff, too. You'd think it would have stopped after the whole city got duped into thinking Batman was a killer, but no. If I were Bats, I'd sue." He lay the book down and drank again. "They tried doing it with me once, at one store."

"I take it you didn't appreciate that?"

"Not one bit. It's one thing to cash in on Batsy's image, quite another to try and turn _me _commercial."

"I'm betting you did more than give them a stern talking to."

Joker smirked. "There's probably still parts of 'em stuck in the carpets. I had a hammer and a _lot _of, uh, motivation."

"Lovely."

"I know, right?" He regarded Crane, his expression almost piteous. "I haven't see anyone try it with Scarecrow, sorry to say. I don't think you've made quite the _impact _that I have, Jonny."

"How tragic."

"Aw, don't be jealous." The Joker's hand was on top of his, his other hand swirling the glass, slightly. The whiskey inside spun, glinting off the light. "I mean, you _try _to be intimidating, it's not for lack of effort. It's just that most people aren't afraid of a guy with a potato sack on his head, scaredy cat."

"I turned half of the city into a hallucinating, panicking mess."

Joker shrugged. "And what've you done since then? Besides mix your toxins with drugs, which by the way, has gotta be the worst business scheme ever?"

"For your information, I did that to conduct research. The money was just a benefit."

"Whatever. The point is, for a guy that calls himself the master of fear, you're kinda not. At all." He ran his fingers over the scars on Crane's hand. "And I think you know that. Subconsciously, I think you want yourself to fail. Otherwise, you would've gotten a costume that would scare people over the age of five. And you wouldn't have sliced yourself up like this."

Crane stared. "As hilarious as your attempts to psychoanalyze me are, I feel I should inform you that the mask happens to work quite well when those looking at it are suffering the effects of my compound. And I didn't do this," he nodded to his hand, "in a fit of self-loathing. This was an accident, from when I was cleaning up the mirror you threw Harley into."

"Nice, try and blame your poor coping skills on me." He drew his hand down Crane's, stopping at the start of his nails, pushing down. It stung in places where the skin was raw from being bitten. He tried not to show it, that would just encourage the Joker to push harder. "Even if that was an accident, you still did all this."

"Biting my nails counts as self-mutilation now?"

"When you do it that much? Yeah." He lifted Crane's hand, scrutinizing it. "You're ruining your nail beds, by the way."

Fantastic. The Joker, of all people, starting in on his personal hygiene. While giving him a lecture on his failing at life. What next, a critique on his skills as a psychiatrist? Or maybe, if he was really unlucky, the clown would turn the conversation to Crane's sexual repression, or whatever he'd dubbed in the past week.

The Joker took another drink, and a way to make the time pass much, much faster, dawned on Crane. "Give me some of that," he said, pointing to the glass with his free hand.

Joker blinked. "What?"

"The whiskey. I want some."

"You're on antipsychotics. You've told me you can't drink with those."

"They just make the effects of alcohol quicker and more potent. As long as I don't drink to excess, it'll be fine." Of course, not being disposed to drinking, at least not often, Crane wasn't exactly sure what his threshold was, so it was very possible to reach excess without realizing it. Still, what harm could one glass do?

"Harley wouldn't like it." He was shaking his head, but with an indulgent smile, like a mother who caught her son with his hand in the cookie jar but didn't feel like punishing him for it.

"Harley's not here." _If she was, you'd be bothering her, and then I wouldn't _need _to drink._

Joker looked as if he was considering which would be better sport; denying Crane and watching him get annoyed over it, or letting him drink and hoping he got hilariously drunk. After a moment's thought he nodded. "Fine. I'll be right back."

He disappeared into the kitchen, gone for long enough that Crane was considering stealing his book. When he finally reemerged, it was with a glass in one hand and his video camera in the other.

"What's that for?" Crane asked, apprehensive.

"Just in case." The Joker sat, handing the glass to his companion, who nervously took it.

"In case of what?"

"In case you're a total lightweight. 'Cause if you are, that'll be something I wanna get on tape."

"That's ridiculous. It's one glass. No one's enough of a lightweight to become spectacularly drunk off of one…" he trailed off, staring down at the glass in his hand as if he expected it to leap up and bite him. Come to think of it, the clown had taken his time in the kitchen. God only knew what could be in here. "You didn't put date rape drugs in this, did you?"

The Joker seemed genuinely taken aback, but then, most of his expressions seemed genuine. "Date rape drugs?" he repeated. "Jonny, I am shocked, _shocked_, that you could even think that. That's sick. Even I have standards, kitten. Yeah, like I'm gonna give my friend date rape drugs. It makes me sick that you'd even suggest it. Besides, I don't have any."

Crane remained unconvinced and un-drinking.

Joker sighed. "God, you're so paranoid. Here." He pulled the glass from Crane's hand, sipping and holding his mouth open afterward, to prove he'd really swallowed. "See?" He wiped the rim of the glass with his sleeve and handed it back. "There, I even cleaned it, so you won't get AIDS. Drink."

He started. "You have AIDS?"

"Yeah, and Ebola too. No, I don't have AIDS."

Crane gave the glass another dubious look. The Joker might be crazy enough to drug himself too, but he doubted it. That would inhibit his inability to work the camera. Well, if he was counting on Crane to becoming staggeringly drunk and make a complete fool of himself, he was going to be disappointed. Sure he was on antipsychotics, and not a drinker to begin with, but one glass was not going to make him do anything idiotic. At least, he highly doubted it.

_What could go wrong? _he asked himself, and drank.

* * *

AN: Jonathan's never heard of Murphy's Law, it seems.

If you haven't read _Catch-22, _you should. It's classic, hilarious, and just the sort of story I think the Joker would get a kick out of. And if it's Joker approved, you know it rocks.


	10. In Vino Veritas

AN: _In vino veritas_—In wine, truth. Because Jonny was never going to express his feelings sober.

Thanks for the reviews, everyone!

* * *

Jonathan had never seen the appeal of drinking.

No doubt that was due in part to having an alcoholic mother—though she hadn't been much better sober—but beyond that, the idea of drinking yourself sick didn't sound like a good time to him. It had always been his view that if you needed intoxication to enjoy yourself, you were doing something wrong. Slightly hypocritical, maybe, given that his idea of a good time was watching others suffer intoxication, but intoxication from weaponized hallucinogens, not alcohol. He avoided drinking, usually, partly because alcoholism was genetic, and partly because the idea seemed so basic, so primal that he'd never been able to see the appeal.

One glass of whiskey later, however, he'd figured it out. Drinking was _fun._

"This is great," he said, for the fifth time—or maybe sixth, he wasn't sure— regarding the empty glass. Had he known drinking was like this, he'd have taken it up long ago. There was so much _clarity_, and so little inhibition. Everything made sense, suddenly, and he had no issue saying exactly what was on his mind. And he wasn't even drunk.

At least, he didn't think so. The Joker's constant laughter following everything he said would seem to imply otherwise, but what did the clown know? So his words were a little slurred, so what? That didn't make him drunk.

"Really great," he repeated, staring at the glass. He'd never before noticed the fascinating way light reflected off glass before, but now that he had, he couldn't believe he'd never noticed. It was like a kaleidoscope, only not. Things even_ looked_ better when he was drinking. Alcohol was the best thing ever to happen to humanity, no doubt about that.

"So you've said." The Joker had the camera pointed at him. He'd turned it on about twenty minutes ago, when Jonathan had felt suddenly compelled to give his views on the state of the government. He wasn't sure why that was film worthy, exactly, but he hadn't questioned it. "And speaking of things, uh, previously mentioned, what was it ya said before, Jonny? That no one could get drunk off one glass?"

"Yep." He could tell from Joker's tone what he was implying, but the insinuation that he was intoxicated didn't bother him. It was wrong, yes, but it didn't seem worth the effort to get annoyed about it. Even the Joker was pleasant when he was drinking. He'd have to start doing this more often. "I'm not drunk."

"Kitten, you're so drunk I doubt you could stand up without assistance."

"Could so," he said, then realized how childish that sounded, and giggled.

The Joker smirked, watching his companion through the camera's display screen. "Well?"

"I don't wanna right now."

"Oh. Of course."

He tried narrowing his eyes, then realized that would take effort and quit. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're drunk, Jonny." Grinning, he shook his head. "Seriously, I think I had better tolerance when I was twelve than you've got now."

"Oh, shut up," he said amicably, wondering why he'd never realized that Joker was actually quite funny. "Can I have another drink?"

"No. Another would probably kill you."

He crossed his arms, scowling. "I'm not drunk, Mr. Fun…Taking Away…Guy." Well, that hadn't been nearly as biting as he'd hoped. Ah, _c'est la vie._

"Okay, so you've got a sense of humor after all. It just sucks. Good to know." Off his friend's less than happy look, he added, "Look, if you can make it into the kitchen and get yourself another glass, I won't stop you. Of course, that's not gonna happen, because you're totally drunk."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Absolutely."

"Fine." Jonathan stood, slowly—_not _because he was lacking in balance, he told himself, but because he wanted to take his time. The Joker would be eating his words soon enough; there was no need to rush things.

Three steps later, Jonathan was suddenly aware that his feet were no longer on the ground and the carpet was rushing up to meet him. A second before he could hit the floor, he felt a hand on his wrist, pulling him back onto the couch. Joker, still filming, met his gaze. "Told you so."

"That was just a false start," he protested, trying to stand again, only for the clown's grip to tighten.

"It's the only start you get. You're way too out of it to try again."

"Am not," he protested, trying to push the Joker's hand off. It was about as effective as trying to move a mountain.

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are so. Look, scaredy cat, you're so drunk that _I'm _the more responsible one here. Do you realize how intoxicated that must make you?"

Jonathan paused to think up a clever retort, and found himself staring at his companion. Joker had always been attractive, but the effects of alcohol made him even more so, somehow. That, or he was the same as always and Jonathan just wasn't inhibited about thinking so, he wasn't sure. Either way, he looked good. Really good.

Not that made Jonathan any less annoyed. The Joker may be pretty, but that didn't make him any less irritating, sexy lipstick or not. "You're no fun."

"_I'm _no fun? This coming from the guy with a stick perpetually up his ass?" He shook his head. "I can't tell if I like you drunk, or if it's just scary."

"Oh, who cares what you think?" Jonathan asked, free hand reaching out to the Joker's own glass, not yet empty, only to be swatted away. "What's so great about you, anyway? I mean, you're hot, but that doesn't make you any less of a dick."

There was a pause in which the Joker stared at him, eyes widened, before bursting into hysterical laughter. He was actually wiping tears from his eyes when he finally straightened up, almost ten minutes later. "Wait, lemme be sure I get this on tape. I'm what now?"

"Hot." What was so funny about that? He was. "Like, really hot. Like, if Robert Redford and Clark Gable somehow combined their attractiveness into human form hot. Only you don't look like either of them. But you're still attractive."

He'd never seen the Joker look dumbfounded before. It was cute. "Well," he said, after a moment. "Wow. Thanks, Jonny."

"You're still a dick, though. Just 'cause you're hot, it doesn't mean you're nice."

"I'm sure it doesn't." The Joker looked less stunned now, and had gone back to smirking. "you know what, kitten? I like it when you're drunk. I could get used to this."

"Can I have another drink then?" he asked eagerly, straightening up.

"No. I like you _coherently _drunk. Not asphyxiating on your own puke drunk."

"Jerk."

"You'll thank me in the morning." He paused, looking back down at the camera. "Well, maybe you won't. Not when you see this, anyway."

"You're a jerk. And you're manipulative. And rude. And unhygienic. And mean." As he wasn't afraid to say such things currently, Jonathan thought it best to get it all out in the open. "And you're a pervert."

"Maybe I _don't _prefer you drunk, after all. I am not."

"Are so. Not to mention a liar 'bout it."

"I don't lie."

"Yeah, you do. With all your "sexually repressed" talk," Here he did quotation marks with his hands, "and all your sad little attempts at justification when you come onto me. Know what? I don't think you really have a philosophical agenda, or psychological one, or whatever, when you make me kiss you. I think you just wanna get fucked."

To emphasize the point, he moved himself onto the Joker's lap, amused to see the clown go rigid for a moment, in surprise. _Knew it. QED, bitch._

"Okay, you're definitely gonna kill me when you watch this sober."

"See, now you're changing the subject, 'cause you know I'm right."

"You're one to talk." It was really infuriating, how the Joker could still act so calmly with a pretty, intoxicated villain on his lap. Lesser psychopaths would have been all over such an opportunity. The Joker, of course, was above such things. That was probably part of what made him so appealing.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're going on about repressing how you really feel, but last I checked, you've been walking around acting like none of the kissing affected you. And before you try and say it didn't, you're almost black out drunk now, but you're still nowhere near as flushed as you were when I made you kiss back. So now who's the liar?"

"Fine, so I liked it. Loved it, actually. It was great. 'Fly me to the moon and let me sing among the stars' great. Is that what you wanna hear? There's no point in expressing it, because the whole thing's a joke to you anyway."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean _you _can't enjoy it too." He moved his gaze from the display screen to Jonathan's eyes. "I mean it when I say you're too serious, Jonny. you need to live a little."

"What, like this?" Before the clown could react, before Jonathan even knew what he was doing, actually, he'd leaned forward, pushing the camera to one side and kissing the Joker. He'd always thought the saying about seeing fireworks when you kissed was completely idiotic, but seeing them now, perhaps he was wrong.

The moment was ruined about thirty seconds later, when Joker pushed him off. Not forcefully, but he still used his free hand to hold him back when Jonathan tried leaning forward again. "Hey. No. Bad Jonny."

"You're the one who wanted me to kiss you to begin with!" he protested, wiping the clown's lipstick off his mouth.

"Yes, I was. I still do. However, you're gonna remember this tomorrow and start screaming about sexual assault and being manipulated, honey. And that wouldn't be any fun for either of us. Save it for when you're sober, okay?"

"I won't wanna do it then." He tried leaning in once more, still to no avail. "I wanna kiss you now."

"Yeah, well, I wanna kiss you too, but I'm trying to be a gentleman here." Joker pulled back, holding the camera between them as a line of defense. "And you're making that really hard for me, Jonny. I don't wanna take advantage."

"I _want_ you to take advantage."

"No, you just think you do." He closed the camera and stood, pulling Jonathan up with him. "I think what you really want is to go to bed. C'mon." He began walking, half-dragging his companion.

"I'm not sleepy."

"Not now, maybe, but give it five seconds." When it became apparent that Jonathan had all the coordination of a rock right now, around three feet from the couch, Joker sighed, picking him up. "God, I can just picture the hangover you're gonna have tomorrow."

"I'm not drunk."

"If you're sober, then I'm God."

"Our father who art in heaven," Jonathan muttered, right before Joker put him down on the bed.

"Okay, I'm leaving the room so you won't feel the need to throw yourself on me again, okay? Don't try to get up, you'll just hurt yourself."

"'Kay." Maybe he was tired after all. That, or the blankets were just very comfortable. Probably both.

"Call me if you're gonna be sick or something, okay? Your friends will kill me if I let you choke on vomit or anything."

"Uh-huh."

The lights switched off. "G'night, Jonny."

"Night, Jesus," he said, watching the Joker's progress down the hall. He supposed it was nice of the clown, watching out for him like this. Even if he was being mean and holding out on the kissing. He rested his head against the pillows, stared up at the ceiling, and was out almost at once.


	11. Morning After

AN: Sorry this is being posted at little later than usual, I put off homework because I'm smart like that.

Thanks, as always, for the reviews! You people are so great.

* * *

The pain in his head was proof that there was no God.

Crane had no idea what had happened last night, past a vague recollection of drinking and being in a good mood, but whatever had gone on, it had better have been worth it. Though he doubted anything could be worth this hell.

He felt the mattress shift underneath him, sending new waves of agony through his head. He'd never been hit in the skull with a sledgehammer, but he felt confident that it would feel pretty much like this. Quickly considering his options of how to handle the pain, moaning was deemed to be the most useful. It was only useful in adding to his already considerable self pity, but still. It was immeasurably preferable to getting up and actually doing something.

Oh, wait, no it wasn't. As it turned out, moaning hurt too. _Dear God, _he thought, _what did I do to deserve this? _It was more than a little hypocritical, imploring a deity he'd just decided didn't exist, but Crane didn't care. He'd sell his soul to anyone right now, if it got rid of this headache. Well, maybe not anyone. The idea of the Joker possessing his soul made him even more nauseous than he was at present. Fine, anyone but the Joker. Or the Batman. But barring that, anyone else.

"Jonny?"

Even hearing things was painful; both syllables seemed to hammer against his ears as if they had a personal vendetta. It didn't help that it was the Joker talking. If there was one person he didn't want to talk to right now, it would be the clown. He considered moaning again, but that would take effort.

"Jonny? You're not dead, right?"

_Oh, how I wish. _"Go 'way," he muttered, burying his face into the sheets and trying not to be sick.

"What?"

He just would not leave, would he? It figured. "Go 'way," he repeated, trying to ignore the fact that even speaking was about as painful as disembowelment. "I'm trying to die here."

"I brought you water."

He couldn't even die in peace. Lovely, just lovely. "Fuck you."

"There's also aspirin."

Crane was up in an instant, fighting back dry heaves as the room spun around him. Putting his hands out on the sheets around him to steady himself, he didn't attempt movement again until the room had stopped spinning and the pain and nausea had reduced to their normal, if still horrific, levels. "Why the hell didn't you say that to start with?"

"I _tried._" Looking slightly annoyed, the clown held out a hand, the pills resting in the center of his glove. Crane eyed them dubiously, doubtful that they'd be effective against agony this great.

"I'm going to need twice as much as that," he said, taking the glass from the Joker's other hand.

"That's not safe."

"Please. Who's the doctor here?"

Joker rolled his eyes. "The same idiot who decided his meds would mix with alcohol just fine. Remember where that got you?"

He didn't, actually, but he certainly wasn't about to say so. That would give his companion the opportunity to make up any ridiculous nonsense he wanted, and Crane wasn't in the mood to deal with it. "Fine." He swallowed both the pills and the entire glass's contents at once. "Coffee."

"What?"

"I want coffee. Now." It occurred to him that bossing the Joker around was about as safe as playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun, but he was past caring.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, here, but weren't you the one who told me that's bad when you're hung-over?"

"It is. I don't give a fuck."

"You don't even _like _coffee," the Joker said, but he was standing.

"It doesn't matter if I like it or not. I need it." And God, how he did. If he had any medical equipment, he'd been willing to put an IV drip of straight caffeine in his veins right now. Which would likely kill him, but it would still be worth it.

An eternity later, or maybe just a few minutes, Crane couldn't tell, the Joker returned, mug in hand. "Do you want sugar or any—"

The coffee was out of his hand before he could sit down, Crane chugging it, not caring that he was burning his tongue. He stopped once the taste became overwhelming, wincing, and resorted to drinking like a civilized human being. Wow, this stuff was horrible. Though, if it worked, he'd be willing to forgive that.

He felt the Joker's eyes on him and turned, annoyed. "What?"

"I was waiting for a 'thanks,' or something. Just 'cause you're sick, it doesn't give you the right to be rude, kitten."

Oh, he was _so _not in the mood to deal with this. "Why the hell would I thank you? You're the reason I'm sick to begin with."

"Excuse me?" The clown's eyes flashed. "You're supposed to be a responsible adult. If you said drinking wouldn't hurt you, who am I to question it?"

"Oh, shut up." He drained the rest of the mug and glared at it, wondering how much damage he could do by slamming it into the Joker's head. Most likely, none at all. He still wanted to try.

"You know what I think?" The clown seemed to read his mind, taking the mug from him before he could attempt anything. "I think what you're exhibiting here is called, uh, transference. I think you're pissed at yourself for being stupid, but you're taking it out on me. That's unhealthy."

"I _know _what transference is."

"I'm sure you do. I just thought I'd draw your awareness to the fact that you're doing it, so you can quit. Because I _really_ don't appreciate it." His voice went cold on the last sentence and Crane shuddered. "I mean, I kept you from drinking yourself to death last night, or breaking your skull, and was kind enough to ignore your advances, and _this _is how you—"

"My what?" he asked, eyes widening despite the pain it caused to be fully exposed the light.

"You came onto me like a hooker in desperate need of money for a coke fix. Honestly, if I didn't know how uptight you usually are, I'd have thought you were a whore or something." Off his companion's utterly stunned expression, he added, "Oh, and you called me hot."

"I—that's—you're…" His synapses had either stopped firing or were firing too quickly for his mind to process the information, he couldn't tell which. "You're lying."

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Joker mimed the action as he spoke. "What, still not convinced? Then tell me, scaredy cat, what do you remember from last night?"

_Er…nothing, really. _He vaguely recalled laughing a lot, and mentioning God or Jesus, one of the two. Had they been talking about religion or something? "I'd remember _that_," he said, to avoid giving a straight answer.

"Is that so?" The Joker, smirking, crossed his arms. "Well, it just so happens I taped the whole thing."

"You did not." _Oh shit._

"Did so. Look, we've gotta meet with your suppliers in a couple of hours, so get dressed, okay? I'll show you exactly how ridiculous you were afterwards." He slid off the bed before Crane could argue, out the door before his companion could even pick up a pillow to throw.

_Fuck, _Crane thought, getting up himself. _Fuck fuck fuck. _If the Joker was actually willing to show him the tape, he must have done something horrendously idiotic. Christ, whatever it was, he had a feeling he'd never live it down. _Goddamn it._ Well, maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Though it would, it definitely would. He made his way down the hall with all the cheer of a man going to the gallows. "All right, let's get this over with."

"I dunno, Jonny." The Joker stood, camera in hand, a smile on his face that made Crane fear for his life. "I may prefer keeping you in the dark about the events of last night. It's funny, watching you freak out like this."

He glared. _I will not attack the Joker. That's like asking to die. I will _not _attack the—okay, maybe I will, if he keeps grinning like that. _"If you weren't going to show me, you wouldn't have told me about it."

"True. I might make you wait a day or two though. In your current, uh, state, I'm not sure you could manage the psychological shock."

He sighed, hands clenched tightly enough for his what remained of his nails to dig into his skin. "What do you want?"

His eyes glittered. "Kiss me again."

It figured. This was becoming so predictable. Not that it made things any less annoying. "Fine."

Joker blinked. "Seriously? You're not gonna bitch about it for the next half hour?"

Why could he never make things simple? Why did they always have to drag this out? "Do you want me to or not?" he asked, leaning in before the clown could think of another smart remark. It lasted about a minute, and despite the Joker's spectacular lack of hygiene, Crane was unnerved to realize he was actually starting to _enjoy _this. It made no sense; this man had kidnapped him, injured him, made his life hell in so many little ways, but this touch was gentle, soft enough to almost make him forget it. Almost.

"Satsified?"

"Yeah." He held the camera out, Crane grabbing it and holding on for dear life, in case he should change his mind. "You might wanna sit down, kitten."

He rolled his eyes, flipping it on. He tried, somewhat successfully, to ignore the flutters of unease in his stomach as the camera slowly flickered to life. _It can't be that bad, can it?_

About ten minutes later he had his answer. Yes. Yes, it could. His face flaming so badly he could almost feel the blood beneath boiling, Crane found himself unable to move from shock.

"Uh…scaredy cat? Jonny?" A hand waved in front of his face. "You okay?"

He tried for a 'Go to hell, you manipulative bastard,' and managed only a sort of hoarse coughing in response. It appeared his body was doing that thing it did, which was similar to but not quite an asthma attack. Whatever the proper term for it was, he was suffocating. That really should have concerned him, but at this moment death would be a welcome release.

"Kitten? Honey?" There were hands on his shoulders. "You're not dying, are you?"

Unfortunately, no, he was still managing to breath, just a bit. _Damn it._

"Okay, let's go over here." He was steered in the direction of the couch, made to sit. "Don't die, Jonny. I'm serious, and that's not a term I use often. Harley would kill me. Don't do it."

"Go to hell," he managed, face still on fire. There was absolutely no God. If the hangover hadn't been definitive proof of that, this was.

"You don't have to be so embarrassed. I thought it was cute, myself."

He considered slapping the Joker, but still felt too numb to try it. Hyperventilating lead to loss of sensation in the extremities, it seemed. "Fuck you."

"Hey." The Joker's hand was on his face, turning until until their eyes met. "That's not nice, Jonathan. I think I showed remarkable self restraint last night, given how hard it is to say no to someone so pretty. And your lack of gratitude is hurtful, to be honest."

"What, I should be thankful that you didn't take advantage of me while I was drunk? Most people wouldn't so much as struggle with knowing that's wrong; I fail to see how you deserve praise for making such an obvious choice."

"This may have escaped your notice, but I'm not what you'd call normal."

"Obviously. I haven't even brought up the fact that you taped my humiliation. What were you planning on doing next, uploading that video to the Internet?"

"Yeah."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." His hand moved from Crane's face to his shoulder. "You like me enough to compare me to Clark Gable."

"I was drunk!" he protested, trying and failing to move the clown's arm.

"Drunkeness does not change your personality, Jonny. It just makes you more open to how you really feel."

"I _really_ hate you."

The Joker pouted. "Well, I really like _you_. C'mon, kitten, let's not fight. We can just never bring this up again, okay?"

He arched a brow. "As if you'd have the self-restraint not to bring it up every five seconds."

"Fine. I won't bring it up in front of people, how's that? We're still friends, right?"

He held in a sigh. On one hand, it had been nice of the Joker not to take advantage of the situation, but he highly doubted that was out of any sense of chivalry. It was probably part of some big, sick joke to gain his trust and then psychologically torment him. At least, that's what made the most sense. "All right."

"Yay." He stiffened as the Joker leaned in unexpectedly, his lips brushing against Crane's forehead. "You're a good kid, you know that?" He took the camera before his friend could throw it into a wall or something and stood, walking off and leaving Jonathan to ponder just what the hell was going on.


	12. Until You Come To Me

AN: In which Jon attempts to figure out just what the hell is going on.

'Trekkie in a _Star Wars _convention' is an homage to a friend, who once wrote a brilliant monologue about…being a Trekkie in a _Star Wars _convention. As for the song…it's been in my head all day, it worked its way into the chapter as such. I really don't know why.

* * *

Crane remained sitting on the couch, motionless, feeling about as lost as a Trekkie in a _Star Wars _convention. From down the hall, he could hear the shower running, as well as the Joker's voice, in a song audible even over the protest of the battered, barely holding together pipes. _What the hell?_

He used to have a good command over the English language. Upon living with the Joker, it seemed about half of his thoughts were now comprised of obscenities. _This place really is shorting out my brain, _he thought, realizing he was biting his nails again but not caring enough to stop. Figuring out what on Earth the clown was planning struck him as the most pressing issue at the moment.

"Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…"

His voice was nice, though deeper than Crane would have expected, given the nasal tone he so often had when he talked. Not that it mattered. What mattered was making sense of the absolute madness his life had become.

_What is he playing at? _The most obvious answer was, of course, the simplest: _He's doing it to fuck with you. _That was almost certainly it, and really, he shouldn't even be trying to come up with alternatives. It would just lead him into thinking there was a deeper meaning when there wasn't, and make him waste his time. Still, it didn't fit, somehow. It was too slow, too restrained.

Joker, in his own words, was an active force. Crane couldn't picture him content to sit back for days, weeks even, pushing a little at a time and then following through on the results. He'd broken people, as he was so fond of telling anyone who would listen, ruined lives and sanities, but always quickly. Very quickly. That was one of the things that made him so dangerous, how fast he could change things from sound and upright to shattered, chaotic messes. _If it's just to fuck with me, why is he taking it this slowly?_

"'Tis here I'll be, in sunshine or in shadow…"

Some said that hell was other people. He'd used to feel that way, but as of late it was his opinion that hell was uncertainty. He couldn't conceive of any situation more unpleasant than this; at least, none that didn't involve grievous bodily injury. Damn the Joker and his ability to make things so unsettling. Control was one of the most important things Crane needed in life, something he could not be happy without, and his companion had a knack for making life about as controlled as a horse running in a blind panic.

Which, Crane reflected, the Joker no doubt knew, and was doing on purpose to fuck with him. So why the feeling there was something more?

He couldn't really have feelings for him; that was ridiculous. No, ridiculous didn't begin to cover it. If there was a term to describe the Joker beyond 'insane,' it would have been narcissistic. He didn't care about anyone but himself or the Batman. Not even Harley, not really. Just because he was acting like a fifth-grader with a violent crush, that didn't mean he felt it. With the Joker, there was no correlation between feeling and action, at least none Crane had seen.

"You'll come and find the place where I am lying…"

It couldn't be out of emotion. Lust, maybe, but no real feeling. There was no way. Just no way. So why couldn't he shake the idea that there was? It was absurd, even self-centered to think the man could feel anything for him, but then, taking his time to destroy Crane's sanity did not fit. Even breaking Harley had taken little more than a month. A month of daily sessions, true, but not an extensive period of time.

The water stopped, abruptly. There was a sudden, unnerving silence before the singing returned. "And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me…"

Well, whatever the reason, he couldn't stand being kept in the dark like this. The confusion was so acute it was almost painful. _Well, what am I supposed to do?_ he asked himself, annoyed. _Ask him? Oh, that'll work. Then again…_

"And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be…"

No. It was ludicrous. The Joker may be insane, but he wasn't about to let Crane know whatever it was he was planning just because he asked. Still…it wasn't as if it could make things any more horrible. He had nothing to lose, really.

"If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me…"

_This is a mistake, _the rational part of his mind protested, but he found himself standing anyway, heading down the hall toward the bathroom door. _This is going to be an exercise in futility, you know. He's either going to laugh in your face for asking or do something unspeakably horrible._

"I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me…"

He stood in front of the door, hands tightly in his pockets to keep from making them bleed anymore than he already had. _All right, so I won't get anything out of this. At least I'll have tried. And it's going to drive me mad if I don't try _something.

"I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me!" The door flung open on the ending note to reveal the Joker, hair dripping, makeup newly applied, and wearing nothing but a towel.

_Bloody hell. _He could not avert his eyes quickly enough. Well, this was without a doubt the worst idea he'd ever had. Ever. Possibly the worst idea in the history of humanity. Or since the universe was made. "Er—sorry—I was—it—I'll be going now—"

"Can I help you, kitten?" he asked, smile so wide it was frightening.

"No, never mind, it's not important—" He turned to leave, only to find the Joker's hand around his wrist. The clown's other hand, mercifully, was still holding up the towel. _Oh hell._

"C'mon, Jonny, don't be like that. I know you wanted to say something and I'm not letting go until you say what." He tightened his grip to emphasize the point. Crane winced. "So what is it?"

"Nothing important, really."

"Jonny, just _tell me _what's up. I'm not gonna be mad, I promise. On the other hand, if you _don't _talk," he squeezed his hand again, making his captive gasp from pain.

"All right, I will. Let go."

He did. "Well?"

"I…that is…what's going on between us?"

The Joker looked mildly surprised, followed by more than mild amusement. "How do you mean?"

"You _know_ how I mean." It felt as if his face was quickly shifting through every shade of red in existence. More than likely, it was. "You, with the…kissing, and the flirting, and everything else. What does it signify? Why are you doing it?"

If there was one thing worse than asking a psychopath his intentions toward you, it was having said psychopath laugh in your face as a result. For three minutes.

"I fail to see the humor in this situation," he said, considering walking off.

"I don't." He was still giggling. "Christ, you're clueless. I mean, can you hear yourself, scaredy cat? What does flirting with you signify, honestly."

"Well?" He crossed his arms.

"What does flirting usually signify? And here you're supposed to be a genius."

He sighed inwardly. _I knew this would be useless. _"We both know you don't have feelings with me. So I'd be correct in guess you just want to screw with me, right?"

There was a moment of silence, in which he realized, to his distinct displeasure, that the clown had stopped laughing. That couldn't be good.

"Just want to screw with you?" His tone that brought to mind death. Slow, painful death. "Where the hell didya get that idea?"

"Because that's what you do," he retorted, trying to keep his voice steady. "You break people."

"Well, yeah, but if I wanted to break you, kitten, I'd have done it in about five minutes. You're not that much of a challenge, sorry."

"You expect me to believe you're doing this out of genuine attraction? That's hardly believable."

The Joker's expression was unreadable. He wasn't even smiling anymore. That was either a sign of absolute honesty or a message that Crane had seconds to live, he couldn't tell which. "You're one to talk. At least I'm upfront about how I feel."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Why was it that every time he tried to confront the Joker, he ended up on the defensive?

"I'm talking about the way you pretend you don't feel a damn thing for me, when it couldn't be clearer that you're madly in love."

"I am not!"

"Really?" The black makeup moved in way that indicated he was raising his eyebrows. "So what was that on the tape?"

"Liking how a kiss feels is different from love, idiot." Insulting the Joker was likely the stupidest thing he'd ever done, but he seemed to have lost his sense of self-preservation, for the moment.

"Don't give me that, kitten. If I'd let you get any further, you'd have been professing your undying devotion faster than you can say 'Someday My Prince Will Come.'"

"You're insa—"

"Are you honestly gonna try and say you don't have feelings for me?" the Joker asked, smirking once again.

His instinctive response, was of course, 'hell no,' and he was fully prepare to say it, shout it if necessary. But for reasons even he wasn't sure of, he found himself hesitating, just long enough for the Joker's eyes to get a triumphant glimmer.

"Knew it."

"I didn't say that I did!" he protested, face even redder now, if that was physically possible. If it wasn't, his body had apparently found a way to break the laws of nature.

"You didn't say no, either. Seriously, Jonny, just admit it. You'd be a lot more well adjusted if you'd quit lying to yourself."

"Well, what about you?" He was fully aware and properly ashamed that he was resorting to the 'turn the question' around arguing technique so popular among schoolchildren. And the Joker. "You never answered my question about your feelings."

"My feelings," he said, the smile shrinking but not quite disappearing from his face, "are that whatever happens between us is your decision. If you want me to back off, fine. If you don't, well, things are gonna get interesting, aren't they?"

Crane stared. "You're serious?"

"Hey, I don't take advantage of mental patients. At least, not romantically. Well, not usually, I guess, now that Harley-girl's a mental patient. But besides her. Anyway, the question here, scaredy cat, is what _you _want. I'm not gonna go on until you give me your okay."

Well, that was the one answer he had not been expected. He actually preferred the clown laughing at him to this; at least mocking made sense. "You're serious?" he repeated, both mentally and emotionally unable to process any other thoughts.

The Joker's response was to close the space between them, ignoring the way Jonathan shuddered when he did so, and kiss him, softly, on the cheek. "It's your decision," he said again, or whispered, really, into his companion's ear. "Let me know what you want."

And with that, he stepped back, the towel around him dropping to the ground without warning. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said over Crane's shocked gasp, a Chesire-wide grin across his features, "I'm going to get dressed." And he walked off, leaving his mentally scarred, hyperventilating friend to puzzle out this latest development.


	13. Permanently Black and Blue

AN: In which Jonathan takes some initiative. The chapter title is a line from the song Bruises, by Chairlift, which a) sums up the power dynamic I think would be a work in a Jon/Joker relationship, from Jon's perspective and b) has been in my head all day.

Thanks for the reviews!

_

* * *

_

And this is why questions and asking thereof is a waste of time,

Jonathan reflected, once he could breathe again. Well, that had been absolutely useless. Things were much less clear than they'd been before he decided to ask, and as an added bonus, he now had the image of a nude Joker burned into his mind for all time. Which was somehow horrifying and…not eye-gougingly awful at the same time. Trying very, very hard to convince himself he hadn't enjoyed seeing that, he made his way back down the hall and into the kitchen, in search of the remaining aspirin.

It was nowhere to be found; he guessed the Joker had hidden it somewhere, for reasons he couldn't fathom. If it had been to keep Jonathan from overdosing, he really should have taken the Jack Daniels as well. But there it was, sitting in plain sight by the sink, albeit with a Post-It note reading "Not for Scarecrows" affixed. _Honestly. _He considered drinking some out of spite, but decided against it. He would rather face the entire GPD and the Batman at once than be hung-over again. Besides, the clown might have poisoned it.

It occurred to him that he was becoming paranoid. But then, there really was no such thing as paranoia where the Joker was concerned. Especially now that things made less sense than ever before. _He's leaving it up to me? What does that even mean? _Whatever it was, Jonathan took it as a sign that the entire ordeal was just another joke; the Joker would never leave a decision to someone else. Would he? No, it didn't make sense. The only instances he knew of where the Joker had given others a choice were situations in which he'd already manipulated any possible outcomes. Maybe that was what he'd done here; it certainly seemed more likely than his acting out of genuine attraction.

What would he be manipulating the outcomes to, though? Well, if he did agree to let things carry on, he supposed that could be directed in any number of horrible ways. But if he rejected the offer, he didn't see how the Joker could turn "back off" into an opportunity to torment him more. Well, unless he'd substitute flirting with abuse. Then again, being in a relationship didn't stop exactly stop him from being violent. Not in Harley's case, anyway.

He tasted blood in his mouth, a lot of it, and realized he'd been biting his nails again. Joy. Risk of infection on top of everything else. He pulled his fingers from his mouth, glancing down at them with a strange sense of accomplishment. He hadn't thought it possible to bite that far back. It was starting to hurt now, and the bleeding hadn't stopped. Great. He wondered if there was anything in this apartment sterile enough to be used as bandages. Unlikely.

"What the hell happened to you?"

He jumped at the unexpected voice, turning to find the Joker standing beside him. Thankfully fully clothed. "It's nothing."

"Nothing," Joker repeated, grabbing hold of his wrists. "You know, it's bad enough that you're into hurting yourself, but when you do it this way, it's practically cannibalism, Jonny."

He had neither the patience nor the energy to get into it. "Whatever. Let's go."

* * *

The meeting with the chemical suppliers had been uneventful, aside from the fact that the Joker hadn't come with him. The clown had given no explanation for why he suddenly trusted his captive not to run off, just handed him a gun for defense and driven away.

He hadn't even stopped the car when they reached the meeting point. Jonathan had been forced to jump out. At last check, both his knees were still bleeding from the impact cuts. He had no idea why the Joker had found that necessary, but given his laugher as he drove off, Jonathan's best guess was 'for fun.'

So here he was, standing on the street corner the Joker had left him at, duffel bag of supplies in one hand and the other on the gun in his coat pocket, waiting for his way home to show back up. It was a nerve-wracking process, though he wouldn't admit it to himself. Gotham City—especially this area—was never particularly safe, unless one was well-armed and in a large group. He was neither, at the moment. Not that he was helpless—he did have large amount of harmful chemicals, not to mention the gun, but survival didn't always come down to who had better weapons. Sometimes it was sheer dumb luck. And now he was injured.

_Maybe this is the reason he abandoned me here,_ he thought, glancing down at the hand clutching the bag. Traces of dried blood remained around his nails, though the actual bleeding had stopped. It still hurt when he moved, though. _Figured if I was left here long enough, that I'd panic and be so grateful at his return that I'd rush into his arms and go along with this idiotic scheme?_ Ridiculous. He may be unnerved, but it would take a hell of a lot more than this to make him lose it.

Though, now that he'd had time to think things through, away from the maniac, perhaps giving in was the best plan, after all. The Joker was more than likely expecting him to say no. Oh, doubtless he had made plans for the rare chance that Jonathan took him up on his offer, but if he was lucky, they wouldn't be as well developed. At least, he'd have a better chance to figure out what was going on. Hopefully. And if he did say yes, it was possible the Joker would think he'd agreed out of attraction. Which wasn't a factor at all, not really. At least, he was doing a very nice job of telling himself it wasn't. But if the Joker thought he was motivated by love…well, two could play at this game, couldn't they? If the plan was to draw him in and hurt him—and that was Jonathan's best guess, at the moment—it wouldn't work if he would be playing the clown the same way he was being played.

It was risky, of course, but then, what plan involving the Joker wasn't? At the very least, being the Joker's lover would mean the Joker valued him in some way, which gave him a slightly better chance of survival. Harley may have been slapped around often, but she'd never been seriously injured, at least, not that he'd seen. All things considered, it was probably the better choice, though he still couldn't figure out how he was going to motivate himself to go through with it. It was one thing to say he'd accept the Joker's advances, quite another to actually—

There was a pair of hands over his eyes, suddenly. "Guess who?"

Jonathan jumped, in such a way that he ended up in the gutter, somehow. "Ow."

The Joker stared down at him, hands behind his back, shaking his head. "You ever noticed you're always hurting yourself?" he asked, sounding as if he was trying to hold back a laugh.

"Have you ever noticed that you're always the cause?" he asked, annoyed, getting back up. He'd be permanently black and blue, if things carried on like this. Or dead.

"Oh sure, blame me for your self-mutilation. That's nice, Jonny, real nice."

"You made me jump out of a _moving_ car."

"Yeah. That was fun." His expression was wistful, hands still out of view.

Jonathan would have liked nothing more than to beat that smirk off his face. Not that he'd be able to. That didn't make the urge to try any less tempting. "What have you got behind your back?" he asked, apprehensive. _This can't be good. _Knowing the Joker, he'd probably gotten some new knives he wanted to test out. Knives if Jonathan was lucky. Possibly grenades, or worse. He forced himself not to flinch as his companion held out a hand.

If there was one thing he was not expecting, it was to have a rose shoved in his face.

"What the hell?"

"It's a symbol of my love," Joker explained brightly. "Go ahead, take it."

Jonathan stared.

"C'mon, it's yours. Look, there aren't even thorns on it, so you can't tear your hands up any worse than they already are." He said this as if it was some great innovation on his part, rather than the standard practice of florists.

"It's yellow," he said, taking the flower in bewilderment. In a way, it was a nice gesture, though obviously only given to fuel some sick goal.

"What's wrong with that?"

"When it comes to roses, yellow signifies friendship, idiot. It's not a symbol of love."

"Oh." His smile twitched for a split second, as if in danger of faltering. "I knew that."

"You did not."

"Did so. But this way, it can go either way, see? The rose itself signifies love, but the color can indicate that we're just friends." His eyes scrutinized Jonathan's reaction. "Speaking of which, have you made your decision?"

Jonathan attempted to gather his nerve. It didn't work as well as he'd hoped. Or at all, honestly. "Assuming I said yes—"

The assumption alone was enough to make the Joker's grin return to normal. That did nothing to improve Jonathan's courage.

"_Assuming _I said yes," he repeated, "would I still have a say in what went on between us?"

"Well, of course. Whaddya take me for, scaredy cat, some kinda pervert?"

He was unconvinced. "As in, you couldn't just decide you were in the mood and throw me down on the bed?"

The Joker held up a hand in the Boy Scout salute. "I give my word."

"I wouldn't let you treat me the way you do Harley, you know." Ah, if ever there was a statement to get him hit, that would be it. He tried not to flinch. "As in, if you hit me, I'm going to get angry about it, not get over it the second you kiss me."

To his astonishment, the Joker only shrugged. "Fine by me."

It wasn't a promise that he wouldn't be hurt, but Jonathan had the feeling it was the best he would get. He swallowed hard, twice. "Okay."

The Joker tilted his head. "Okay what?"

_Damn him and his need to make everything difficult. _As if the butterflies in his stomach and the pounding of his heart wasn't bad enough. He was about five seconds from fainting, or having a break down, or worse. "I'll accept your offer."

Joker looked like a child on Christmas morning, though his voice was still mocking. "Nice phrasing. Way to take all the romance out of the moment, Jonny."

"I said yes," he protested, indignant. And still more than a little afraid. "What does it matter how it's said?"

"God, you've got a lot to learn. C'mere, kitten."

And with that the Joker was up against him, mouth on his. Jonathan only just managed to move the rose out of harm's way, and then could concentrate on nothing but the fireworks suddenly going on before his eyes. And the kiss, which was nice. Very nice.

_This is bad, _the rational part of his mind informed him. _Very bad. You've agreed to something insane without knowing all the details, and now you're letting yourself be drawn in. This cannot end well._

_No, _his emotional side agreed. _No, it can't end well at all. But it's going to be a hell of a ride, isn't it?_


	14. Control

AN: Sorry about the delay of this chapter, last night was devoted to watching movies with my roommate. I'd never seen _Fight Club_, so of course she had to remedy that.

Two more writers I'm recommending: J-Horror Girl and BiteMeTechie. Brilliant I say, brilliant!

Thanks for your reviews!

* * *

The ride home was a blur. One minute they were making out on a street corner and the next they were making out in the living room, the journey there nothing more than a vague recollection of near death experiences and the Joker proving that he could, indeed, kiss while he drove.

_Well, I'm going to have to insist he start brushing his teeth,_ Jonathan reflected, as he was half-walked, half-shoved into a wall. Barring that, though, amazingly enough he had no complaints. Having his hair pulled like this wasn't pleasant, true, and all the slamming-into-furniture business was sure to leave bruises, but it was nothing worth breaking the moment for. Not that he was unable to break the moment; he just didn't want to. Because being unable would imply that he was becoming addicted, and that was ridiculous. Things were completely under his control—

He felt a particularly rough tug on his hair, and winced. _All right, maybe I do have complaints. _He let go of the Joker, somewhat reluctantly, and took hold of the hands grasping his hair, slowly untangling them and moving them away. They came to rest on his shoulders, which Jonathan found perfectly acceptable until one hand trailed down his torso and came to the waistband of his jeans.

He managed not to bite down in surprise, saving them both a lot of pain, and pulled back instead, his own hands pushing the Joker's away. "Hey. No."

"Why not?" The clown pouted. "You'd like it."

Possibly, but he really had no inclination to try it, besides curiosity. It seemed so…instinctive? Animalistic, maybe. Besides, just because he'd agreed to this didn't mean he'd give into anything with no hesitation. "Because I'd rather not have a psychotic terrorist molest me, that's why."

"It's not molestation if you're willing."

"I don't know that I am."

"Aw, c'mon, Jonny." Hands returning to his partner's shoulders, he gave a smile which almost looked normal. "You're the one who initiated this, uh, romance, remember?"

"Last I checked, most relationships develop a bit before the sex." Oh, joy, now he'd insinuated that there would be sex, eventually. Great. At least now he knew the value of carefully wording responses.

"You'd be surprised." His tongue ran over his lips, further displacing the already smeared makeup. "Anyway, I'd don't think you'd call us a standard relationship, wouldya kitten?"

He refused to be won over the lip-licking tic, attractive though it was. And he refused to admit that it was attractive, even to himself. "I'm not having sex with you."

"We don't have to have _sex_, you know." The Joker tilted his head. "I mean, there's a lot you can do without _technically _doing it."

"No, thank you." Only now was the insanity of the situation beginning to sink in. What had he been thinking, agreeing to this? Attraction wasn't the same as love. Why was he thinking of this in terms of love anyway? _I didn't say yes for the romance, I said it so he'd stop screwing with my head. _And in retrospect, it wouldn't stop the screwing around at all, just redirect it.

He was starting to think this had been a bad decision.

It didn't help that there was a very high probability of clown-molestation occurring in the next few minutes.

To his astonishment, however, the Joker only shrugged and leaned back in, their lips meeting again. Though it was rougher this time, almost painful. He supposed he was feeling Joker's sexual frustration, which was interesting, in a way. He hadn't thought of the man as being controlled by physical urges, as being controlled by anything beyond his need for chaos and his obsession with the Batman. _So he's not so different, after all._ That, or the Joker had only changed his manner of kissing to throw Jonathan off balance. That was more likely, actually.

His hypothesizing was cut short when a sudden pressure on his tongue made him pull back, eyes widening. "You—did you just bite me?"

"Not hard." His expression was nonchalant, as if bite-kissing was perfectly normal. Given Jonathan's lack of experience, it might be, but he doubted it. "It didn't hurt, right? I was going for something unexpected."

"I don't like the unexpected." _And that's the understatement of the year._ Honestly, everything about their time together had been one unexpected thing after another, and apart from some of the kissing, it had all been miserable.

"I can tell." The Joker pouted, as much as he could with the scars keeping much of his face immobile. "Do you realize how boring things are gonna be if you stay so uptight, kitten?"

"You're the one who wanted a relationship," he said, raising a brow. "I've never put out particularly 'open and adventurous' vibes, have I? What, did you expect me to be so smitten I'd fall to my knees and offer myself to you, or something."

"Now there's a _lovely _image," he said, eyes flickering back for a second, imagining. "But no, not what I had in mind."

"What did you have in mind?" Jonathan wasn't sure he wanted to know, but couldn't help but ask. _Curiosity killed the kitten, _he chided himself, then realized he'd used the Joker's pet name for him and died a little inside.

"Making you lose control." He closed his eyes briefly as if savoring the thought, one hand sliding off Jonathan's shoulder and stopping at the end of his sternum, fingers lightly tapping to his heartbeat.

_Of course. _"I like control."

"I know you do. It's the binding point in your little world, isn't it? That's why making you give it up is going to be so. Much. Fun."

He supposed he should have expected as much from a self proclaimed agent of chaos. "If you want to push me over the edge, why'd you stop?"

"Because that's not the same loss I'm talking about, Jonny." His other hand was on Jonathan's face, tracing the scars as he so often did. "I wanna create chaos. And there's more to creating chaos than tearing things apart, you know."

"There is?" he asked drily.

If the Joker was annoyed by his flippant manner, he didn't show it. "Yes. Chaos is a thing of beauty, an art, scaredy cat. Sure, blowing up buildings is fun, but that's not the chaos. The panic that follows is. And chaos, much like any other art form, takes time."

He leaned forward, lips trailing over Jonathan's scars before he continued. "As an example, remember the rose I gave you? Beautiful, right? Well, it didn't get that way by someone taking the bloom and ripping it open. That would've destroyed it. But given the right conditions, and a lotta time, it becomes," he pulled away, eyes meeting his partner's. "A work of art."

Jonathan, far too flustered by the scar kissing to come up with a counter-argument, settled for an incredulous look. "I'm a _flower_?"

"Not yet. Right now, you're just a locked-in control freak." The hand against Jonathan's shirt dropped again, and the Joker smirked when he was pushed away a second time. "Which is still nice. Reminds me of the Batman, kinda."

"I remind you of _what_?" he asked, going as stiff and rigid as he'd always been before they'd begun this relationship.

"_Relax_, Jonny. It's a compliment." His hand stroked Jonathan's face, doing nothing to dissuade the other's tension. "And an accurate, uh, observation. The both of you are all about control, though his is in regards to Gotham while yours only concerns yourself. That's part of why I like you so much, because you make me think of him."

"I am nothing like him." The comparison turned his stomach. The Batman had poisoned him, robbed him of his sanity, turned him into an outlaw. Well, only outed him as one, but the result was the same. _We are nothing alike. Batman seeks to control others, I only care about the order in my own life._

"Denial's more than a river in Egypt, you know." Joker smirked at his wordplay while his companion gave a blank stare. "Don't be unhappy, kitten, it's a good thing. It's what drew me to you. Without it, there wouldn't be an 'us.' After all, you're fun but Bats…well, he completes me."

"So I'm your Bat Lite. There's a blow to the ego." Still, in a twisted way, his logic made sense. If the stories he'd told Harley were to be believed—though likely they weren't—the entire reason he'd become the Joker in the first place was to counter Batman. And they were opposite extremes. Both mad outlaws, but for different reasons and with reverse goals. He supposed the statement wasn't mean to be insulting, or if it was, he wasn't going to take the bait. Jonathan moved in to kiss the clown again, only to find the Joker taking his hands and staring down at them. "What?"

"C'mere." The Joker led him to the couch, sitting down. "There's something I wanna do. Put your hands out."

Jonathan stared at him, hoping he didn't look as apprehensive as he felt. "Why?"

"It's nothing bad, I promise." His partner didn't respond and he sighed. "Please? For me?"

_As if I haven't given into nearly everything else you wanted already. _Still, he offered his hands. There was that curiosity again, overriding all good sense.

"Thanks." The Joker reached into one of his coat pockets, hand remerging with a small glass bottle, full of clear liquid.

"Is that nail polish?" He tried moving his hands to no avail; Joker had grabbed him again before he could pull away.

"Not quite." The brush slid over his fingers, coating the skin in some places as the clown wasn't putting much effort into stay on his nails. "It's supposed to taste bad enough that you'll quit biting your nails."

He blinked. "When did you get that?"

"Today, when you got the chemicals."

Ah. Well, that made sense. For a moment he'd been entertaining the notion that the Joker made a habit to carry an assortment of random objects on his person in case they'd ever be useful. Actually, he probably did. "Why do you care so much?"

"It's unhygienic."

Jonathan gave a short laugh. "I'm unhygienic? Tell me, have you ever taken a good look at that smile you love to show off?"

"Hey, I can pull off the grunge look. Sadly, kitten, _you _can't."

He decided arguing the point wasn't worth it and sat back, watching the Joker's progress with equal parts amusement and annoyance. At least the stuff was clear. He remembered the time Harley had offered to paint his nails bright red and mentally shook his head. Then went rigid again, remembering.

"What?" the Joker asked, looking up.

"Harley." _Oh, hell._

His expression remained blank. "What about her?"

"What about her? _Hello_, she's my best friend! Not to mention your girlfriend. Do you realize how hurt she'll be when she finds out what we've done behind her back?" Damn. How could he have possibly agreed to this? He couldn't imagine trying to justify what had gone on to her. _Great. Way to let lust completely destroy a friendship, Jonathan. Don't expect her to ever forgive this, you idiot._

Joker was smirking, which didn't surprise him. The man had no decency at all. "She doesn't have to know."

"Of course she does! I'm not going to lie to her." He couldn't lie to her if he tried, anyway. At least, not well.

"You don't have to lie, scaredy cat. It's not like she's gonna walk up to you when you're reunited and say 'Jonathan, did you have sex with the Joker while you were together?'"

It was scary, really, how well he could mimic her voice.

"You just don't tell her. There, problem solved."

"Withholding information I know would hurt her is the same as lying."

"Yeah, but it's a _white lie._ You know, the okay kind? It would only hurt her to know, so it's fine to hide it."

What a wonderfully twisted life lesson. "It's not a white lie, you're just using that as justification to keep her in the dark."

"Well, duh."

"I am not lying to Harley."

The Joker rolled his eyes, screwing the lid back onto the bottle of polish. "Fine. Let's be logical about this, shall we? We both know you said yes to me to get me to stop psyching you out, don't try to deny it. Harley likes to think of you as her 'poor little mental patient that doesn't know any better' or whatever, so she's not gonna be pissed at you for too long if she finds out, especially if she knows why you said yes. And she won't get mad at me, because she's incapable of staying angry with me for more than three seconds. Besides, she's not gonna find out. So it's all good, okay?"

He was torn between guilt over kissing Harley's boyfriend behind her back and more guilt at the realization that he actually was considering the Joker's excuse. "But what if—"

"Hush." The Joker's hands were on his face again, kissing him before he could protest. "It'll be fine, Jonny. Don't worry about it."

_It's official, _he thought, as he kissed back, barely reluctant. _I am a horrible friend, and Harley has every right to try and kill me. And I'm very likely the worst person in the history of the world. But this…_This felt so good it was hard to let the guilt affect him. Which, beyond adding another twinge of guilt, was somewhat worrying. He was supposed to have given in to make life simpler, not because he actually liked it.

It was nice enough, though, that it was hard to remember he was supposed to be playing the Joker the same way he was being played. Which, so far, he'd completely failed at. Oh well. There was always tomorrow.


	15. Power Struggle

AN: In which Jonathan is assertive, for once. I don't see the Joker as sex-crazed, I just think having someone be so completely uninterested in his advances would throw him off balance.

Thanks for the reviews!

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Things were almost sane over the next few days which, in retrospect, should have been his first sign that something terrible was going to happen.

Having awoken the next morning still full of guilt over the betraying Harley issue, Jonathan decided to deal with it the same way he dealt with most problems: Ignoring the emotions and burying himself in research. Unhealthy? Definitely. But it worked, at least for a short period of time. And if he kept himself distracted long enough, he'd found that sometimes solutions to problems just came to him. Though he doubted a good excuse for making out with Harley's boyfriend was going to occur to him any time soon.

Still, there was no harm in trying, so his first act upon waking was to gather his supplies and attempt to recreate that strange laughing side effect a trial compound had given him years ago. He distantly realized that he should eat something before starting the process—during research he tended to neglect trivial things like food or his wellbeing—but by the time everything was assembled his scientific curiosity was too great to be distracted by something like breakfast. He knew he should eat, but it seemed unnecessary, and besides, hunger was easy to block out when he was working. He could block out almost everything, really.

Unfortunately, 'almost everything' did not include the Joker.

The Clown Prince of Crime woke up several hours after him, and upon finding Jonathan on the living room floor, surrounded by chemicals and scribbling notes, apparently decided this was a great time to be seductive. "Morning, kitten."

It was well past noon, actually, but he was too focused to point that out. The only thing that had been able to break his concentration since he'd begun was the truly horrible taste of the nail polish Joker had put on him. It was almost enough to make him stop biting. Not quite, though. "Hi. Working."

"That's friendly." The Joker stepped over the many glass vials on the floor and sat down. "How are things going?"

"Yes."

He tilted his head. "I take it you're in one of those moods where you don't hear a word I'm saying?"

"No." He was still writing, hands half-covered in ink from smudges he hadn't bothered to let dry before writing over them. "I hear you."

"So, you're just ignoring me, then?"

"Yes."

Joker pursed his lips, thinking, then leaned forward and waved a hand in front of Jonathan's face.

No response.

"How long do you think it'll take you to do this?"

"Possibly days."

"_Days_?"

"I have to recreate the original toxin and then devise a way to strengthen the effects. It's a trial and error process."

Joker shifted, looking bored and impatient already. He really had no self control at all. "Can't you take a break, kitten?"

"If you want things to take even longer, then yes."

The clown sighed, shifted again, and grabbed Jonathan without warning, pulling him into a kiss. It lasted only a few seconds; then Jonathan got over the shock and pushed the Joker off of him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to break your concentration." He smirked at his companion's flustered face. "I'd say I succeeded."

Jonathan considered throwing something at him, until he remembered that everything he had to throw was breakable, or filled with dangerous chemicals, or both. Mostly both. Fantastic. "Go away. I'm trying to do what you kidnapped me for in the first place."

"I didn't kidnap you, scaredy cat. You _asked _me to take you, don'tcha remember?" He glanced down at Jonathan's notes and shook his head, feigning concern. "I think all these drugs are messing with your mind. You oughta stop for a while."

"I think I'm fine, thanks." Jonathan smiled slightly, lowering his head to hide it. It was funny, really, how…_needy _the Joker could be. It made sense, though, once he thought about it. An agent of chaos needed something to harass, that something being Jonathan in this case. When he was preoccupied, like now, the clown seemed almost unable to leave him alone.

He went back to his notes, trying to ignore the Joker, who was now comparing the safety of his experiments to a meth lab, or something ridiculous. He thought about pointing out that unlike the average meth brewer, he was sober and actually trained in what he was doing, but decided against it. He wanted to see if Joker would become desperate if not given attention for an extended period. That would be useful information. Very useful.

He was midway through documenting a rather important bit of information when the Joker's hand was around his wrist, lifting his hand away from the notebook. Jonathan sighed, inwardly, forcing himself not to respond with irritation. "Something for you?"

"You're still biting your nails." He wagged a finger of his free hand at Jonathan, expression disapproving.

"It's a habit. It takes time to break." He tried to shake off the Joker's grip, to no avail. "I'm sorry, do you want this toxin or not?"

"C'mon, Jonny, don't be so _uptight._" He sounded…well, sulky. Dear God, this was hilarious. "What's the use in having a toy if you can't play with it?"

"If your toy can help you incapacitate all of Gotham, I'd consider it very useful." It was too bad he wasn't ambidextrous. If he could switch to the other hand and continue writing, the look on the Joker's face would be absolutely priceless.

"Useful, maybe, but not fun." Joker gave Jonathan what was he assumed was supposed to be a seductive look, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the scars, makeup, unwashedness, and psychotic manner. "C'mon, don't you wanna _play_?"

"Not particularly." So not getting attention made the Joker unhappy. Oh, this was _lovely. _He had to bite his lips to keep from grinning at the thought of all the ways this weakness could be exploited. _Revenge is going to be sweet._

The Joker was still frowning, twitching like an addict going through withdrawal. "What's the problem? It's not like you're straight."

"The fact that I'm attracted to you does not mean that I'm going to throw myself on you at every opportunity." This was _so _much fun. And wonderful pay back, for all the blows his own self-esteem had sustained. He forced himself to appear serious as he spoke next. "Be logical, all right? The sooner I finish this, the sooner you can mess with me. The more you leave me alone, the sooner I'll be finished. So go find a way to entertain yourself for a few days."

The Joker stood, muttering darkly about ruining the mood, and stalked off.

"Something that doesn't involve broadcasting our location," he added, to the Joker's retreating back.

He was able to reproduce the compound by about six. And there was night, and there was morning, the second day.

About noon of the second day, he looked up from his notes to find the Joker lounging on the floor in front of him, dressed in a lacy negligee.

Despite strong efforts on his part to remain stoic, he was unable to keep from responding. "What in God's name is that?"

"I went shopping yesterday when you told me to get lost," he explained, running a hand over the fabric. "I thought it might draw your _interest_."

"Er…no." Blushing furiously—the short length of the robe left almost nothing to the imagination—he averted his eyes.

"What, you don't like it? Harley-girl loves it when I dress up in her things."

"If you're trying to turn me on," Jonathan said, avoiding looking at the Joker as one would avoid looking at the opened Lost Ark of the Covenant, "it's probably unwise to remind me of the girl you're cheating on to be with me."

"It's not _really_ cheating." He took in Jonathan's evasive behavior, licking his lips. "What, you're not attracted to me when I'm in a skirt? Or do you wanna try this on yourself?"

"_What_?"

He shrugged. "Well, you're the effeminate one. And you look enough like a girl already."

It took all of his self-control not to fly into a rage at that. As if he hadn't heard that particular comment about a trillion times growing up. "Look, if you continue to bother me, I won't make any progress. If I don't make progress, I'm going to be in a bad mood. And if I'm in a bad mood, you're not getting anything. No kissing, no holding my hand, nothing. Got it?"

"_Fine._" He stood—Jonathan made the mistake of looking up as he did and came to the terrible realization that Joker had nothing on under the negligee—and made his way back to the bedroom. "Take all the fun outta life."

"And if you're going to dress in women's clothing, you ought to shave your legs first," Jonathan muttered, shaking his head. He couldn't stay annoyed for long, though. Sexually frustrated Joker was far too amusing to make him too angry.

And there was night, and there was morning, the third day.

He created the new toxin around nine in the morning, happy enough to break his stoicism and kiss the Joker, who'd been hanging around as usual, coming onto him in increasingly less subtle ways.

"This is it, then?" Joker asked once they'd finished making out, holding up the canister and giving it a dubious look.

"Part of it, anyway. The laughing part, I haven't added anything that'll force the victim to smile yet. But I'm almost entirely sure that this will work."

Now _he_ was getting the dubious look. "Almost entirely sure?"

"Well, it's not as if I have anyone to test it on." He glanced at the Joker. "I'm correct in assuming that you don't want to volunteer, yes?" That was what he missed most about being the asylum director; total access to test subjects, twenty-four seven. "I suppose we could go find a victim, or, if you're not adverse to your men being used as lab rats, call one of them up."

The Joker shook the compound like a can of hair spray, running his tongue over his lips in thought. "This is deadly, right?"

"Not at the moment, no. It's a low concentration. It would only induce death in the infirm or a complete coward."

He looked disappointed. "You didn't make it at full strength why?"

"Because I'm not sure if it's right yet. There's no point in wasting supplies if it's not going to work."

"You got an antidote?"

Jonathan took that as a sign that the Joker wasn't about to hand one of his men over. Which made no sense, given the way he killed them off all the time. Perhaps the reasoning was that it was okay when he was the one breaking his toys, or something. "Not at the moment. But that's low enough that it won't cause lasting damage anyway."

"Ah." He tossed the canister into the air, catching it as it came back down. "So, in that case, it's fine if I try _this._"

And before Jonathan could react, the Joker had him by the hair, dragging him forward. He struggled like a rabid animal, kicking and swinging to no effect whatsoever. To his horror, his head was forced back, like it had been that night in Arkham when the Batman had done what the Joker was about to do, and toxin sprayed in his face. Even with the glasses to shield them, his eyes burned, as did his sinuses as the poison was inhaled, the room seeming to shake along with his body as the effects began nearly at once.


	16. Hurt and Comfort

AN: If you've ever seen _Pan's Labyrinth_, I imagine Joker humming something similar to the lullaby from that.

This is my finals week, so I can't guarantee that there'll be daily updates. Sorry.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

The Joker let him go and he crashed to the floor. The room wasn't just shaking; it was spinning at the same time, the vertigo so horrible that the only thing keeping Jonathan from vomiting was that he was laughing too hard to be sick. His heart was pounding so hard and fast he was seriously worried about it giving out, despite the fact that he knew, logically, the toxin wasn't near strong enough to do that. But it was hard, no impossible, to be logical right now, with the poison racing through him like wildfire, wanting nothing more than to huddle in the nearest corner and wait the effects out, eyes shut, hands over his ears.

But he couldn't, no matter how great the desire to, because he was trembling too much to have any motor control at all, and even if he had been able to move, he was laughing too hard to expend energy on anything else. Laughing hard enough to bring tears, so hard it _hurt_, much like the light in the room was painful, seeming to flicker brighter and brighter to the point of hurting, even once he'd closed his eyes. The sound of his own voice hurt as well; he didn't seem to be so much hearing noises as having the sound waves stab him in the ears. Everything hurt.

_It's not real, _he told himself, trying to force himself to believe it. _None of this is real, it's just a chemical, you're fine. Nothing's really happening, you're all right._ He knew it, deep down, but that didn't help. It wasn't as if being aware of the chemical reactions going on inside of him made the effects any less horrific. And the knowledge that it was all in his head wasn't the least bit helpful, because that didn't make it _feel _any less real.

"Well," said the Joker brightly, his voice sounding to Jonathan less human and more like a power drill would sound, if it could speak, "guess it works, huh?"

Eyes still closed, over the hammering of his heartbeat and the sound of his laughter, Jonathan heard the Joker crouch down beside him and went rigid. At least, for a moment, anyway, before the shaking and the laughing resumed. If there was one thing he did not want to see while hallucinating, it was the Joker's face. He could imagine how it would look—he_ was _imagining it, damn toxin and its ability to take a horrifying idea and run with it—and that was something he never wanted to think about again, let alone actually see.

"You know, I like you this way." His voice didn't sound human anymore, it was something dark, foreign, something that made Jonathan want to scream, and all he could do was laugh, harder than ever. "So…uncontrolled."

Jonathan felt the Joker's hand stroke his face and stopped breathing, for a second, his breath coming back in shallow gasps when it did. It _hurt_. He knew that it was just in his head, that the Joker had touched the scars so he hadn't actually felt anything at all, but that didn't stop his mind from telling him that it hurt. It felt as if the skin had been ripped where the Joker's hand had grazed. It felt as if he was bleeding, even though he knew he couldn't be. Unthinking, he reacted by striking out, only to have the Joker grab his wrist and hold it, the glove feeling like fire against his skin, and he was still unable to stop laughing.

"Hey. No." The other hand was on his face again, the pain as bad as ever, turning his head so that they were facing each other. "Look at me."

_No. God, no. No no no. _He couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't look, because if he looked, he'd lose whatever little bit of control he still had, and they both knew it. And the clown would make him look, and it would push him over the edge.

"_Look at me._" His voice was deeper, louder, painful enough that time to make Jonathan open his eyes, out of shock. And he saw.

The Joker's scars had opened up, making a grotesque, gaping wound in his face, the red framing it no longer lipstick, but blood. His eyes seemed to have disappeared into the black around the sockets, which didn't look like paint any longer, just voids that threatened to suck in anyone who was stupid to stare at them long enough. And Jonathan was unable to look away. The Joker smirked, causing the wounds to spill more hallucinatory blood, and Jonathan felt tears in his eyes that he knew were the start of real crying, not just a byproduct of the laughter.

"I like you uncontrolled." Jesus Christ, the cuts actually seemed to spray blood when his lips moved. Jonathan could swear he felt it hit his face, though he knew he was really feeling his own tears. What he wouldn't give to be able to stop laughing long enough to scream. "But this might be a _bit _much for even my tastes. Do you know why I did that to you, Jonny?"

He paused for a moment, until it became clear that his companion was too far gone to answer, then reached out and shook Jonathan's head for him. "Because it wasn't just to be an ass. That was part of it, yeah, but there was more."

His eyes flashed, which looked to Jonathan like a spark of light from the depths of the gaping black holes. "You're smart. Real smart. But so am I. And I know when someone's trying to play games with me."

Jonathan was amazed he could even hear the words, he was so panicked. It didn't help that somehow in the last few minutes, breathing seemed to have stopped being an involuntary process for him and he was struggling to keep from suffocating, forcing himself to inhale between the laughs.

"You don't like sex? Fine. I don't care about it that much anyway. I mean, it feels fan_tas_tic, but it's not the end all be all of human existence. What I _do _care about is the fact that you've been trying to torture me by holding out on your, uh, affections.

"Don't try to deny it," he added, as if Jonathan was in any state to do so. "Because it's what you've been doing for the past three days, and if you try it again, I'm gonna have to do something even worse to teach you a lesson. Don't think I'll hesitate to hurt you. See, scaredy cat, playing with a toy isn't the fun part. Breaking it is. Don't make me break you. Okay?"

He released Jonathan, who immediately went back to cowering on the floor in a laughing, trembling mess. "That is one nice drug you've created, Jonny." He paused. "Are you _sure _it's not gonna kill you?"

Jonathan, by way of response, went from silent—well, laughing—tears to full out hysterical sobbing.

"Damn. Not that it isn't really, really funny to see you like this—because it is—but uh, please don't have a heart attack."

Oh, when this wore off he was going shove the rest of that toxin down the Joker's throat and then kill him, slowly and painfully.

"Hey, c'mere."

He felt hands wrapping around him and pulling him against the Joker, each second of contact pure agony. He tried pushing away but, as usual, was completely overpowered.

"No. C'mon, don't be scared, I'm not gonna hurt you."

_I find that highly unlikely. _He already _was_ hurting him. True, to his knowledge the Joker wasn't aware that the drug made contact painful, but he was not in the mood to be generous, especially to the person who had caused this in the first place. Looking back, it wasn't his smartest move, giving the psychopath the toxin in the first place, but he wasn't in the mood to learn from his mistakes either. He made another attempt to get away, only to have the Joker hold him tighter than ever.

"No. I'm _trying _to help you here, Jonathan. Okay? Just try to relax for me, all right?"

_Relax. Oh, like that's going to happen. _Still, he tried, for his own benefit. There was almost no discernable result. Of course there wouldn't be, given that the toxin was designed to keep its victims from calming down. His heart was still pounding, he was still hallucinating, and the room was still spinning. About the only difference he could ascertain was that he'd gone back to laughing more than crying, and that hardly helped.

"Good boy." A hand reached out to stroke his face, and he winced at the sensation, pulling back a third time.

Joker tilted his head. "Does that hurt you or something?"

He couldn't answer verbally; he was still laughing too hard. He was able to nod, however.

"Ah." He brought his hand back up, though this time barely touching at all. It wasn't painful, Jonathan assumed because his body could hardly feel the sensation to begin with. "What about that? Is that okay?"

He nodded.

"Good." He carried on in that manner, barely touching in that way, though his other arm stayed tightly, painfully wrapped around Jonathan's body. "Relax. You're fine."

If Jonathan was able to speak, he'd have told the Joker that he was wasting his time; the toxin lasted for a set time frame and nothing they did was going to make it end anytime sooner. As it was, he sat back—well, sat shaking and giggling—waiting for the clown to figure that out on his own.

He did, about half an hour later. Half an hour by Jonathan's estimate, anyway; it was likely the toxin had interfered with his perception of time, the way it interfered with all other perceptions. Strangely, he didn't let go when he realized he wasn't making a difference, as Jonathan would have expected, given his usual attention span. Instead he held on tighter than ever, ignoring Jonathan's protests, resting his head on Jonathan's shoulder and humming something—a lullaby, he thought—over and over while rocking, slightly.

It, like all other sounds did currently, hurt to listen to, but he found himself almost appreciating the sentiment. Which was ridiculous; there was no way the Joker was comforting him out of actual concern. This was just backpedaling, an attempt to save face to make Jonathan forget the assault in the first place. It had to be, because he wouldn't have poisoned him if he cared. No, this was just another scheme and the only thing making him feel differently was the chemicals affecting his mind.

The Joker stayed with him in that way for what seemed like hours, which Jonathan took as definite sign that his perception of time had been altered. There was no way the clown would do something like that. Even so, despite all the manipulating, despite the fact that this was all the Joker's fault to begin with, Jonathan found himself oddly grateful that he stayed with him until the toxin wore off enough for him to mercifully pass out.


	17. Reconciliation

AN: Everyone's heard of temporal scan thermometers, right? The kind you swipe across the forehead to take a temperature? Just wanted to make sure, because if you read the bit of the chapter that mentions it while picturing an oral thermometer, I don't think it'll make any sense.

I think Ray Bradbury is one of the greatest horror writers ever and the three stories mentioned are some of my favorites by him. If you're feeling really brave and haven't read it, you should totally get a copy of _The October Country _from your local library, though be warned that 'The Skeleton' frightened me enough that I couldn't read any more for months. Though I'm probably just a coward. 'The October Game' can be found online, if you search for it, and isn't too long, but once again, it's very frightening.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was the pain. Even before he realized he'd woken up, he knew that he didn't want to get up or even attempt to move any time soon. To try so would be agonizing. His head was pounding just as badly as it had been when he was hung-over, but that sensation paled in comparison to the absolute torture his ribs had become. He wouldn't be surprised if some of them were cracked; certainly they were bruised. Fantastic.

He opened his eyes, blinking against the light for a good thirty seconds or so until they adjusted. From the look of the ceiling, he was lying on the bed. That, or the floor beside it. He couldn't tell what was beneath him, as the pain seemed to be overshadowing all other sensations. Well, not all of them. He was aware of a feeling around his hand, like someone else holding onto it. Jonathan glanced to the side to see Joker sitting beside him, one hand on his, the other holding a book.

Having ascertained his location, he turned his attention to puzzling out just what the hell had happened to put him in such misery. He really should remember—something that hurt him this badly should have left an imprint—but his mind was blank. The headache wasn't helping in the slightest. Nor the way his pulse was hammering in his ears. Why on Earth was his heart rate accelerated this much? It wasn't as if he'd been doing anything strenuous; he'd just woken up. Though, come to think of it, he did vaguely remember a nightmare, something involving laughter and a lot of blood. Was that it?

He must have moved slightly, or made some sound without realizing it, because the Joker turned to look at him. "Morning, Jonny." He smiled, a strange smile for the Joker in that it seemed to be genuine; no obvious signs of malice or mania.

It also brought Jonathan's memory of the prior night's events flooding back all at once.

_Jesus Christ. _His already racing heart beat even faster at the recollection, his body shaking slightly as he remembered the Joker's horrifically slashed, bloodied face and the hysterical, forced laughter that had caused the pain in his ribs. The knowledge that the effects had worn off now, and the Joker's statement last night that he wouldn't poison him again unless provoked did absolutely nothing to stop the panic attack that was starting, his lungs already blocking the air flow.

The Joker's hands were on him at once, pulling him into a sitting position. He assumed that was supposed to help him not suffocate; all it really did was make the pain worse. And the clown touching him only made last night's events all the more vivid. "Jonathan. Don't freak out on me again."

He glared, as much as one could glare while panicking. God, what he'd give to poison the Joker and then tell _him_ to stay calm. Bastard. "You…poisoned me," he managed, between gasping breaths.

"Yes. I did. But that's over, and I'm probably not gonna do it again." Upon seeing the very unhelpful effect the word 'probably' had on his friend, he went on, "Look, I'm not gonna hurt you, and you're only making yourself sick by flipping out like this, so relax."

_You son of a bitch. _Somewhat successfully controlling his breathing now, he wondered if he was able to move enough to smack the clown, or if that would be too painful. No, it wasn't worth it. The Joker would just block it anyway. "Bastard."

"Hey, I took care of you, didn't I? Lemme tell you something, kitten, it takes a special sort of man to let a guy laugh in his ear for hours on end and not get pissed."

"Right, like it takes a special sort of man to poison his lover. Special in this case meaning f—absolutely insane."

The Joker snorted. "So, being hung-over gets you to say 'fuck' but being poisoned doesn't? Your priorities are kinda messed up, scaredy cat."

"Go to hell."

"Aw, don't be like that." The Joker put an arm around his shoulders. Jonathan considered pulling away, then remembered that would hurt and gave up. "Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

"You're not." His breathing had returned to normal by now, though his heartbeat was still racing. As it would be until all traces of the toxin were out of his system. Wonderful.

"Well, no, but that's nothing personal. I don't regret anything I do."

He'd figured as much. Jonathan considered himself amoral, but nowhere near that level. "Sociopath."

"Hey, c'mon, don't try and psychoanalyze me. I get enough of that at Arkham."

_And your diagnosis is probably the only one where the doctors are correct. _"But it's okay for you to do it to me?"

"Well, you're mentally ill. I'm not."

Did he actually believe that? If so, he couldn't tell if that was idiotic or horrifying. "You're insane."

"I'm perfect."

If it didn't hurt to laugh, Jonathan would have. As things were he closed his eyes and tried to contain his anger before he started shouting. Just when he'd started to think the Joker might not be all bad—and the fact that he'd been that stupid in the first place wasn't helping—something like this happened. God, this situation was hell. His eyes opened abruptly as he felt cold metal against his forehead, dragging across his skin. "What are you doing?"

"Taking your temperature." The thermometer beeped and the Joker pulled it back, glancing at the display screen.

"Where did you get that?"

"From a store. You've still got a fever." He placed the thermometer on the sheets beside them and took hold of Jonathan's wrist. Jonathan tried not to flinch. "And your heart's still all thumpity. I thought you said this didn't have any lasting effects."

"I said there was no permanent damage. As long as the chemicals are in me, they'll have an effect."

"So how long 'til they're gone?"

"Two or three days, usually."

He frowned. "So you'll be in bed for two more days? That sorta impedes the laughing gas progress a lot."

Jonathan sighed. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you poisoned me. Anyway, I don't have to stay in bed the entire time."

"Yeah, you do, 'cause I don't want my favorite toy to die."

It was incredibly unnerving how conversing with the Joker could be like talking to Hannibal Lecter at one moment and reasoning with a five year old in the next. "I'm not going to die."

"Right, 'cause you're not getting up."

_Jesus Christ on a motorbike. _Well, this was going to be hell. He felt the Joker take hold of one of his feet and wondered if it was worth the effort to look down and see what he was up to now.

"Your socks are dry."

He looked. "What?"

"When you got the fever, I wasn't sure if it was okay to give you aspirin, because of the drugs," the clown explained, releasing Jonathan's foot. "So I went with other methods of fever reduction, namely getting your socks wet and freezing and putting 'em on you."

"On my feet." _And that helps how?_

"Well, it's not true what they say about all heat flowing to the head. And it sorta worked. Besides, I had washcloths on your head and crotch and all too, but you kept shivering, so I took 'em off." Off Jonathan's glance, he added, "Hey, I've had nursing experience. I know how to treat fevers."

The idea of the Joker as a nurse was almost as terrifying as the toxin-induced hallucination of him. Thank God there was no way that was true. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome," he said, pulling Jonathan's socks off. "Oh, and I forgive you for the whole withholding affection thing."

"How very kind of you."

"Yeah, I'm a regular saint." He leaned forward, kissing Jonathan on the forehead and sliding off the bed. "I'm gonna get you something to eat. TTFN."

"What does that even stand for?" he asked, but the Joker had already gone.

_Damn him and his strangely touching gestures. _How he wished the clown would pick one personality and stick with it. Being insane was one thing; having been a psychiatrist, Jonathan could deal with that, but such inconsistent madness was beyond irritating. How had Harley been able to handle this; having a man be sweet and loving one instant, then violent and hurtful the next? Well, Harley's own insanity had probably helped that along.

It didn't matter anyway. He could handle the mood swings if he just learned to read them. Besides, it wasn't as if he was emotionally affected by Joker's behavior, beyond concern for his safety, he could care less if he was treated with kindness or abused. Like he hadn't been abused before. It wasn't like he had feelings for the clown, beyond liking the kisses. It wasn't as if he really cared.

The Joker returned around five minutes later, steaming bowl of soup in hand. "Here you go."

"You cooked?" he asked, apprehensive. It didn't look bad, but he doubted anything barring starvation would motivate him to eat something the Joker had made.

"No. It was one of those canned things. All I did was put it in the microwave."

"Thank you." It wasn't bad, actually. Only after he'd tried it did it occur to him that it might be drugged, but upon waiting a few minutes and seeing no ill effects, he decided to try his luck and continue. A few more minutes passed without incident before he felt a horribly cold, uncomfortable sensation against his foot and looked down to find the Joker sliding the socks back on. "What are you doing?"

"Treating your fever. Haven't we gone through this already?"

"I don't like it," he said, forcing himself not to jerk around. Kicking the Joker was never a wise idea, especially with a bowl of steaming liquid to be used as a potential weapon. "It's cold."

"That's sorta the point, kitten. It helps you get better by cooling you off."

"I _know _that, I just really don't like it."

The Joker sighed, making his way over to sit beside Jonathan, and put an arm around his shoulders again. "There. I'm warming you up, which is gonna raise your fever again, by the way. Happy now?"

"Yes."

"I got books for you, when you were asleep," he said, after a moment, smacking his lips on the last syllable. "I figured you might be in bed a while and get bored. You like Ray Bradbury?"

"Yes." He felt oddly touched again. He knew it was only a method to gain his trust back, but it was still nice.

"Good, because that's what I got."

"Which ones?"

"_Something Wicked This Way Comes _and _The October Country._"

Jonathan was unable to keep from making a sound not unlike one a preteen girl would make when meeting her favorite pop star. "I love _The October Country._"

"Me too. What's your favorite story from it?"

That surprised him. He knew, as of the day he'd seen him with _Catch-22, _that the Joker read, but he'd never figured they'd have similar tastes. "'The Skeleton,' I suppose. Yours?"

"'The Jar.' My favorite story of his would have to be 'The October Game,' though."

He made that little girl noise again. "Mine too."

"So, there's no hard feelings between us, right?"

Jonathan considered it. The Joker had poisoned him, not to mention holding him captive with the pills and all the other little miseries he'd inflicted on him in their time together. On the other hand, he had taken care of him after making him sick. And brought him books. And if he did have an antisocial personality disorder, which was Jonathan's guess based on what he'd seen, he was lacking in empathy, so may not have realized the full extent of how frightening the toxin would work. Not that that gave him a free pass for doing it, just that it made the blow a little less harsh.

And he kissed really, really well, gingivitis aside.

"No hard feelings," he agreed, then nervously bent forward and pressed his lips to the Joker's for a fraction of a second, before pulling back. He averted his eyes almost at once; besides the time he'd attacked the Joker in an escape attempt, that was the first kiss he'd initiated, and he'd very likely sucked at it.

"Hey, look at me, kitten."

He did, and this time it wasn't scary to see his face at all. He was smiling that strangely normal smile again, and Jonathan's heart sped up once more, but in a good way, as their lips met a second time.


	18. Priorities

AN: In regards to Jonathan's lack of experience sexually, I don't see that as naivety or innocence on his part, so much as lack of interest. Also, canonically, the man doesn't have much success in relationships so I don't think he dates very often at all, leading to even fewer opportunities to try things.

As for the weird little 'sexy time now' scene, as I've dubbed it, the point in this chapter was to highlight the difference between Jonathan and the Joker's views of a relationship. I see Joker as being all about instant gratification, be it physical, emotional, or whatever, whereas Jonathan is more about mutual happiness and being connected above all else.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Two days went by, though for once time didn't seem to drag on indefinitely. Rather, it flew, most of it spent with the Joker, and most of the time with the Joker spent kissing. He wasn't sure how he'd gone from despising all physical contact to making out for extended periods, but it was pleasant enough he wasn't going to question things. The only annoying thing about it—besides the gingivitis—was the lipstick and makeup that came off on Jonathan's face and hands each time they kissed, but he was going to have to deal with it. The one time he'd asked that they try things without the paint, the Joker had responded that he'd go without it when Scarecrow took on Batman without the mask. When Jonathan pointed out that he had taken on Batman maskless, six months ago, he was told that didn't count.

It absolutely did, but it wasn't worth going into. Besides, the lipstick wasn't that bad. At least it didn't have a bitter taste, unlike the white paint, as he'd found out when he'd kissed the Joker's scars. Really, it was more out of curiosity than annoyance that he'd have liked the makeup gone. He'd seen him without it on, obviously—it wasn't as if he was allowed to wear it in Arkham—but he'd never looked all that closely at his face. He'd avoided doing so, actually. People didn't just sit there and stare at the Joker, at least not unless they had a death wish.

Anyway, just because they seemed to have reached a not trying to kill or torture each other truce didn't mean it was time to start testing limits. This was the Joker, after all. Even when he was being nice—or his version of nice, which was considerably different from a normal person's—he was still wild and unpredictable. Like yesterday, when for no adequately explained reason he had felt it necessary to bite Jonathan's neck hard enough to break blood vessels under the skin as they had been kissing. All right, so that was something that normal couples did as well, but that didn't make it any less perplexing.

Beside him on the bed, the Joker sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Morning."

"Afternoon," he corrected, setting down the book he'd been reading.

"Whatever. How do you feel?"

"Not like death, actually. I think the toxin's out of my system."

"Awesome." Joker straightened up, looking far more awake now. "You know what that means?"

"Laughing gas?"

"Besides that," he said, with a wave of his hand.

"Oh." Jonathan thought it over, drawing a blank. "Then I have no idea."

"It means we can play together without getting you hurt."

He raised a brow. "Is 'play together' a euphemism for intercourse?"

The grin on Joker's face told him all he needed to know.

"No, thank you."

"Aw, c'mon. I've got bubble bath."

Jonathan blinked. "The hell?" He wasn't sure if the Joker made such random statements because he was insane, or only to keep everyone else off balance, but it was terribly confusing either way.

"Bubble bath. Because it's romantic and fun."

"I don't take baths."

He pouted. "Why not?"

"Because I don't like water." He didn't want to think about combining water and the Joker. Nice as he'd been recently, it didn't make the idea any less horrific. And with his luck, the clown was probably into erotic asphyxiation and would end up holding him under.

"You take showers."

"That's different."

"How so?"

He didn't respond. Relationships should be trusting, true, but he'd be damned if he was going to give the Joker any more weaknesses to exploit. God knows he knew enough already.

Joker poked him in the ribs, still frowning a little. "Are you sure this isn't just an intimacy issue?"

"I'm sure."

"Do you not like sex or something?"

He shrugged. "I don't care either way."

Head tilted, he ran his tongue over his lips, considering. "I understand not actively seeking it out, I guess, but you like the feeling, don't you?"

Lovely. If there was one place he'd been hoping their conversations wouldn't go, it would be his sexual history. "No idea," he said, with another shrug.

"Whaddya mean, 'no idea'? What, you couldn't tell if it felt good or not when…" He trailed off and straightened up, comprehension dawning on his face. "Wait, you mean you haven't—"

"I've gotten as far as humanly possible without actually trying it," he muttered, face reddening. Oh, he would never hear the end of this.

"So, you're still—God, no wonder you're so miserable all the time. That's it, I can't stand for this. Something's gotta be done." He had that determined look on his face that Jonathan had learned to be wary of.

"Exactly what are you planning—" And then he was lying down on the bed, the Joker above him, hands on the zipper of his jeans. "Hey! No. Bad touch." Jonathan pushed him off, pulling his legs together. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you out, what does it look like? Christ, you're how old and you've never gotten laid?"

"Absolutely not. I am not doing this now." _If ever._

"Why not?" The Joker looked completely lost, for once. Jonathan supposed someone so ruled by impulse would have a hard time comprehending someone with no desire to give into that impulse.

He did not respond with the first and utterly ridiculous thought that popped into his head: _I want the first time to be special. _It was idiotic; it sounded like something a teenage girl would say. So he went with the second thought. "I don't know that I want to, all right? Get off."

"I think you're insane." Joker shook his head, otherwise unmoving.

"Maybe so. But what are you going to do, rape me?" The instant the words left his mouth he regretted it. _Great, give him ideas. There's a plan._

He looked amused. Jonathan couldn't tell if that was a good sign or a bad one. "You think I'd do that?"

"No. Rapists are motivated by feelings of inadequacy, and you are nothing if not self-confident. Look, you're cutting off the circulation to my legs. Get up."'

He did, albeit with a pause just long enough for Jonathan to really get nervous. "Fine. I still say you don't know what you're missing out on."

Jonathan shrugged, considering it to be safer than answering. He was sure the Joker wouldn't take advantage of him—well, ninety-nine percent sure, which was really the most one could be with the Joker anyway—but he didn't like the idea of giving him a new threat to use in intimidation. "Possibly. I'm going to work on the laughing gas now."

"Well, if you change your mind…" He stretched out on the bed, looking like a _Playboy_ centerfold gone horribly wrong. "I'll be in here."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The rest of the day was spent experimenting, excluding a two hour break in which the Joker had again made the mistake of asking Jonathan what he was working on, and was only able to shut him up an hour and a half later by kissing him into silence.

Things had been pretty much normal—or, as normal as life could be for two fugitive lovers—until Jonathan awoke in the night to find himself alone in the bed.

That in itself wasn't remarkable; Joker often ended up sleeping somewhere else, but they'd been together when they'd gone to sleep, and the Joker had fallen asleep first. Jonathan had never seen him get up under those circumstances before. Vaguely worried, he got up, telling himself he was being ridiculous but unable to shake the worry that something was wrong. Upon searching the apartment and finding it empty, he resorted to pacing back and forth, biting his nails for a few minutes, before he recalled the Joker's stargazing hobby and decided, on impulse, to check the roof.

He found the Joker standing there, apparently unbothered by the cold night air, though his coat probably helped with that. It was dark and windy and showing all signs of potential rain, but if that affected the clown, he didn't show it. Jonathan glanced up at the sky as he made his way across the roof; as far as he could see, no stars were visible, between the city lights and the clouds.

Come to think of it, the Joker didn't even seem to be looking at the sky. Rather, his eyes were scanning the rooftops, from Jonathan's guess.

"So," he said quietly. His companion didn't move in response, still watching. "Stargazing means Bat searching, I take it?"

"I don't get it." Jonathan had never heard the Joker's voice sound so flat before. It was unnerving. "We haven't moved. I haven't even been that careful to conceal our location. Why hasn't he found us?"

He found it even more unnerving that his friend seemed to want to be caught, but decided not to depress him further by mentioning this. "Maybe he doesn't know all the details of your escape. I mean, now that's he made himself public enemy number one—Well, not number one," he added quickly, remembering how fiercely Joker defended his status. "But still up there. I mean, Gordon can't just give him police records like he used to. And if he doesn't know all the details, it might be harder for him."

"That shouldn't matter." Joker scowled, kicking absentmindedly at stray bits of crumbled brick littered around their feet. "He's my antithesis. He should have devoted all his time to hunting me down, and records or not, he'd have done it by now."

The way Joker talked about the Batman almost hurt, in a way. Jonathan was beginning to feel like the other woman in one seriously depraved romance. "Well, we haven't really done anything. I mean, beyond those guards you killed when we broke out. Maybe he's going after the mob, or those actually committing—"

"He didn't come after me and Harley, either, when we were out last. Not for two months after the night he caught you. And we weren't dormant then. Not at all." He was still watching the rooftops, his expression a mixture of longing and sadness.

"I know." He remembered the news reports; Joker's men causing mass panic and death throughout the city, Joker and Harley themselves committing murder after murder in increasingly bizarre ways, the most memorable being a victim whose organs were removed. The corpse had been stuffed with playing cards before it was sewn shut again.

"I'm the most dangerous criminal this city's ever known. Why doesn't he care?"

_I'm sure he does. Maybe you should stop your henchmen from making messes he has to deal with before he can find you, if you want to see him so badly._ Not that he was going to say that out loud, of course. It wouldn't do any good at all. He held in a sigh, watching the Joker with a mix of pity and concern. "Let's make him care, then."

Joker turned to regard him for the first time. "What?"

"I should have the toxin by the end of the week, if I put enough effort into it. Let's go out and test it as much as possible. Not necessarily a lot of people at once, but get the word out. Let the Batman know that you're at it again and the only way they can even hope to stop you is if he tracks you down. And while you're at it, make him jealous. Show him what he's missing."

"Missing?" the Joker repeated. His expression was more blank than somber now, which Jonathan took as a good sign.

He illustrated his meaning by grabbing hold of the clown's lapels and pulling him into a kiss.

"Ah." The Joker's eyes were sparkling when they pulled back for air. "And how do you suggest I show him that, Jonny?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. We can take out a billboard if that's what it takes."

The Joker laughed. It was a raspy, terrible sound as usual, but it was oddly comforting, given how unlike himself he'd been a moment ago. "God, kitten, what would I do without you?"

"Have a partner that actually likes sex?" he offered, feeling water hit his shoulder the moment he'd finished speaking. Within a moment, it was raining around them, not yet hard but the potential to become so. "We should go in."

"No, wait." Joker took hold of his hand, keeping him there. "I like rain."

"We're going to get pneumonia," Jonathan protested.

"You really do not like water, huh? Well then, consider this my way of returning the favor."

"Returning the favor for what, and how?" Jonathan pulled off his glasses, sliding them into his pocket. They'd already fogged up and were absolutely useless.

"For giving me an idea of how to attract the Batman's attention. And I'm gonna repay you by helping you appreciate this lovely act of nature."

Oh, this couldn't be good. "And you're doing that how, exactly?"

"We're gonna stay out here until you start to enjoy yourself."

Christ. How was it that even when he was being nice, he was an absolute sadist?


	19. Reassurance in the Rain

AN: I'll probably be able to get another chapter up tomorrow, but I'm not sure about Friday, as that's the day I'm heading home. Updates during my Christmas break may also be a bit sporadic for a while because I'm working for long periods a lot of days and also want to spend a good deal of time with my family. Sorry.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"Can we _please_ go inside now?" The Joker's hand was still tightly around his own, and although only a few minutes had passed, the rain had gone from light to 'torrential downpour.'

"That depends, Jonny." His makeup was almost entirely gone now; it figured the one time he was willing to let it come off, Jonathan wasn't wearing his glasses. He could put them back on, but in this rain he doubted they'd be of any use. "Are you having fun yet?"

"Yes."

"No, you're not."

_Well, obviously. _How could _anyone _enjoy this, fear or not? Even without unpleasant childhood memories being evoked, the fact remained that they getting soaked with cold water while even colder wind was making things more uncomfortable, if that was possible. And it was a thunderstorm, which added the lovely threat of death by lightning strike. All right, so that was highly improbable, but why test fate? "We're going to get sick and die. You know that, right?"

"You worry too much, kitten. Take a second to appreciate your surroundings, okay?" To illustrate, he looked to the sky, his expression the epitome of serene calmness. That is, until the rainwater pushed what remained of the black paint into his eyes and he hurriedly looked down, cursing and rubbing at his face with his free hand.

"There, see? You're not happy either. Let's go." His heart was speeding up again, loath as he was to admit it. This was ridiculous. He'd always hated rain, but he'd never realized he was actually afraid of it. Some master of fear he was. Then again, it wasn't as if it was without precedent.

"No. And I meant to do that." What had remained of the makeup was gone. Not being able to see him clearly was incredibly annoying.

"You're getting makeup on your suit," Jonathan pointed out, doubting an appeal to vanity would work but trying it anyway. And he was; the collar had gone from blue to a mess of red and gray.

"So? It probably washes out."

"Probably?" he repeated, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. "What, you've never gotten makeup on your suits before?"

"Laundry's for henchmen. Back to the point. Look around for a second, wouldya?" He waved his hand—glove now smeared with black—through the air around them, inadvertently smacking Jonathan in the face as he did so.

"Ow."

"Sorry. But anyway, this is nature at work, scaredy cat. Rain is a bringer of life. Water's a benevolent force."

"It's also a force of destruction. Have you ever noticed that all ancient civilizations had a flood legend?"

Joker shrugged. "Which wasn't always viewed as a bad thing. Take the Egyptians, for example. Not only did they depend on the Nile's floods to grow crops, but the great flood itself stopped the goddess Sekhmet from destroying all of humanity."

"What's your point?"

"That you're ridiculous."

Well, there went any idea of talking his way out of this logically. Not that there had been much hope of that to begin with. "You know what? You're absolutely right. I've been wrong this whole time; thank you for showing me the error of my ways. And I think I'd appreciate this even more if we were watching it through a window."

"Nice try."

He was beginning to wonder if giving into sex would be worth it, if in meant getting out of the rain. No. No, of course not. But it was tempting. "Look, you could find a different way to return the favor."

"I like this way."

"I know you do. I don't. At all."

The Joker sighed. "'Kay, look." He took Jonathan's other hand, holding it up to catch the rain. "See this, Jonny? It's _water._ Waaa-ter," he said again, slowly, sounding almost like Helen Keller in _The Miracle Worker._ "It can't hurt you unless you're stupid enough to put your face in it and inhale, which you aren't, or if you can't swim."

"I _can't _swim." He couldn't make out the other's expression, but the Joker made an amused sound.

"Fine, but it's only rain. It's not as if you're at risk of drowning. It's a completely irrational fear, kitten."

"I'm aware of that. Knowing that it's irrational doesn't make it any less powerful."

With another sigh, the Joker moved his hands from Jonathan's wrists to either side of his face. "Fine, so logic isn't working here. Let's try emotion. Do you honestly think I'm gonna let anything bad happen to you?"

Jonathan took that moment to remind him of the laughing gas incident a few days ago.

"All right, but anything bad that I'm not the cause of?"

And he took that moment to remind him of the fight with Batman six months ago that had ended with Jonathan in traction.

"Well, besides Batman, obviously. I don't control him. C'mon, trust me here, Jonny. You're safe."

"Once again, irrational fear." Jonathan was starting to shiver now, though to his relief not from a loss of control, but from the cold. "Knowing I'm not in danger doesn't alleviate the sensation."

Joker hugged him, in what Jonathan guessed was an attempt to share body heat. It didn't do much good, given that they were both soaking wet, but he was glad enough of the contact not to complain. "Try and associate it with something positive, okay? Like…" he paused, thinking, smacked his lips. "You know that song, 'Singing in the Rain'?"

"Yes. And link it with the film _A Clockwork Orange _far more than the musical. So that's not a very reassuring association," he added, almost apologetically.

"God, aren't you cheerful." He paused again, pulling back slightly, tongue running over his mouth. "What about that movie, you know, where the couple makes out in the rain?"

"What movie would that be?"

"Dunno." He shrugged, as much as he could while still holding Jonathan. "Like, any romance ever with a scene in a storm."

"I don't watch romances."

"Why does that not surprise me? Bet you've got a whole shelf at home devoted to zombie movies or something."

"Zombies aren't frightening." All right, so he had few DVDs of that genre, but those were guilty pleasure and he almost never watched them. Almost.

"Try thinking of it as something else, then. Do you like snow?"

"Yes, but they've nothing in common."

"Sure they do. They're both water, it's just one's all frozen. So think of it as snow, but warmer and in liquid form."

"As rain, then."

"And you say I'm impossible."

Somewhere in the distance, there was a flash of lightning, quickly followed by an explosion of thunder that seemed to be right above them. Jonathan jumped.

_Great. First rain, now loud noises. I'm never living this down—_ His thoughts were cut off, suddenly, when the Joker kissed him. It wasn't open mouthed, or incredibly passionate, as their kisses tended to be. It was shorter, gentler, almost loving in a way. Which was ridiculous, but that was the only way he could think to describe it.

"Relax." His voice was just as soft as his mouth had been, one hand leaving Jonathan's body and stroking his face. "You're safe, okay? Don't be afraid."

If it weren't for the very real sensations of the rain on his skin, the wind in his face, or the body pressed against his own, Jonathan would have thought he was dreaming. This made no sense. Sure, they were in a relationship. But a relationship agreed to only for convenience on one side, and almost certainly for kicks on the other. And this was the Joker, of all people. The Joker, who forced people into life or death situations for the fun of it, and treated his own men as viciously as those he targeted. The idea that the same man could be so gentle, so seemingly truly concerned; it was totally incongruous. It was like that children's game where one had to spot the object that didn't belong.

"Why are you being so nice?" he couldn't help but ask, regretting it at once. If there was one thing the clown cared about, it was his reputation, and if he got the idea that Jonathan thought he was being soft, the results could be disastrous. He braced himself for a violent response.

And was completely unsure of how to react when the Joker only shrugged. "'Cause I feel like it."

Ah. Well, that only meant that he'd stop being nice as soon as he got sick of it. Which should have been the moment where any reassurance Jonathan had felt abated.

It didn't.

It was absurd, but in spite of the fact that there was nothing to back it up, he felt safe. Honestly. Not calm, and certainly still afraid, but safe. That, and something else, something he couldn't quite place. Unless…he stiffened, feeling the Joker's grip tighten as he did.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." It was an absolute lie, but what was he going to say? _I think I'm falling in love with you? _No. Not only would such an answer be met with laughter, no doubt, but there was no point in saying it because that couldn't be it. As he'd reminded himself so many times in the last few minutes, this was _the Joker. _The man who had poisoned him, dislocated his shoulder, broken his arm, fired a gun at him while he was driving, slapped him, used him as bait. And worst of all, who'd driven Harley mad. How could he love someone like that? The idea was deplorable. The thought that he'd even considered it made him disgusted with himself.

And yet, there was still that odd feeling that he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Love was the best hypothesis he could come up with. Testing it, he raised his head and kissed the Joker, eyes open despite the rain in them. There were those fireworks again. And the racing of his heart, an acceleration he knew wasn't entirely due to fear. It was still absurd. But it fit, though he wanted nothing more than to deny it. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"This." He was referring to the opportunity to sort out what was going on. The Joker, apparently, took it as a sign that he was enjoying himself and knelt down, grabbing onto Jonathan in a different position so that he could pick him up, bridal style.

"You're welcome, kitten. C'mon, let's go back." Holding Jonathan at about the level of his shoulders, he looked down, and they kissed, long and hard, before he made his way back to the fire escape.

_Maybe rain isn't so bad, _Jonathan reflected, staring up at the sky as he was carried. Not that it had changed his feelings about any other bodies of water, but this very positive association had done wonders for his views on storms. The subsequent kissing that went on once they'd arrived back inside, before bothering to change, certainly didn't hurt either.


	20. Je Te Plumerai

AN: 'Alouette', if you haven't heard it, is one of those very happy-sounding children's songs with not so happy, kind of creepy lyrics. I believe the English translation is available online if you google Alouette lyrics. The line Joker sings referring to wings, I chose, because I felt it fit with Jonathan losing his desire to fight for his freedom.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Jonathan awoke the next morning to find the Joker's arms around him, and rolling over to face his companion found that he was still asleep, and much to Jonathan's pleasure, hadn't yet reapplied the makeup. Immediately he retrieved his glasses from his pocket, careful not to wake the Joker while doing so, and slipped them on. Upon his vision clearing, his immediate thought was _Dear God, am I a cradle robber?_

All right, so he wasn't that young. But he was young; much younger than Jonathan would have suspected, and very likely younger than him. The makeup had made him seem older, somehow—possibly due to the corpse-like look it gave—but he couldn't be any older than early thirties, and even that seemed like stretching it. After he'd adjusted to this startling fact, several minutes later, he was able to look past it and taken aback at once by the freckles. Not that there were many of them, but Joker and freckles simply could not connect in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. There was something far too innocent-seeming about them to mesh with the Clown Prince of Crime. Well, it was true what they said about not judging books by the cover, then.

Still, unexpected though his appearance was, it didn't make him any less beautiful. And sleeping, with his expression relaxed for once, and face framed by dirty blond curls, he looked peaceful and beautiful and almost angelic. Which was a ridiculous thing to think, Jonathan reflected, given the person, but after all, Lucifer had been an angel once. Anyway, the angelic effect was somewhat ruined by the scars, standing out in dark contrast to his fair skin, but even they didn't seem so horrible. He'd never thought they were that bad to begin with. Disfiguring, yes, undoubtedly adversely affecting facial movement and complicating things like speaking and eating, but not ugly.

Carefully, he raised his hand to the Joker's face and caressed the scars, oddly comforted by the feel of the twisted yet smooth tissue under his fingers for a moment, before he pulled back. Of course there was no response, given that the nerves there were as dead as those in Jonathan's own scars, but it didn't keep him from stiffening for a moment, in fear of his lover waking. He doubted the Joker would take kindly to being seen without the makeup. If he'd been awake it may not have mattered, but sleeping, he was defenseless, and a violation of privacy Jonathan didn't want to carry any further. Slowly, he untwisted the Joker's arms from his body and left the bedroom, making his way to the makeshift laboratory he'd converted the living room into.

Several hours later the Joker came in while he was writing notes and announced his presence by grabbing Jonathan's left hand, which he'd been absentmindedly biting the nails on. "I take it the polish thing didn't work?"

"I think I chewed it off." The Joker had put the makeup back on, he noted, with a twinge of disappointment. Not that he'd expected him to walk around without it, but after seeing his real face, it was a bit of a letdown.

"Nice." He glanced at the pages spread out on the coffee table, releasing Jonathan's hand. "How goes the science?"

"Sciencey."

"You don't say." He sat on the floor beside Jonathan, fastening the cuffs of his shirt. "Mind if I watch?"

He shrugged. "It'll be boring."

"Okay."

Jonathan blinked, but went back to the task at hand.

Patient was not a word he thought he'd ever use in regards to the Joker, but as the minutes ticked by, he didn't leave Jonathan's side. That didn't mean he was quiet, of course; any time there was silence, it was quickly broken by singing, smacking Jonathan's hand away from his mouth, shuffling a deck of cards, or starting a mostly one-sided conversation. It was distracting, but not too greatly, and in a way he preferred it to sitting alone. _This makes no sense, _he told himself, in an attempt at a stern reprimand that had no effect whatsoever. _You're a scientist, and this is getting in the way of progress. You shouldn't even be able to tolerate this, let alone enjoy it._

It seemed he had fallen, and fallen hard. And while that knowledge gave him a sense of unease, it was difficult to be actually upset by it. Sure, the man blew up hospitals for the fun of it, but anyone who could keep him from a panic attack in the middle of a rainstorm couldn't be all bad, right?

It was, however, curious to note that the despite getting almost no response when he spoke, the Joker didn't seem to be annoyed by the lack of attention as he had been the other day. Jonathan wasn't sure why, but his best guess was that this time he wasn't ignoring him with intent to provoke, and they both knew it. It was more than a little irritating, knowing this man had been systematically destroying any method he could use to get the upper hand, but there wasn't much point in getting mad over it. If the Joker wanted to be one step ahead, the best thing would be not to challenge him on it. Just sit back, watch, and wait for an opportunity. Dripping water didn't cut through a rock by force, but time and persistence. He, unlike the Joker, was not ruled by impulse and could therefore follow that method.

Plus, he didn't particularly want the upper hand at the moment. It was far more interesting to see how things were going now. Not that he was relinquishing control, just that he wanted to sit back and watch for a while. It wasn't as if he needed the clown's affections, not really. They were just nice to have.

They sat for at least another hour or so, Jonathan working and the Joker doing whatever idea popped into his head, until Jonathan realized he needed to eat and came out of the oblivious, concentration-induced fog he spent so much time in when dealing with toxins. The Joker's hand was on his back, he noted, somewhat marveled that he hadn't felt that before, fingers running across his shoulder blade, as the clown sang. In French.

"_Je te plumerai les ailes, je te plumerai les ailes_—"

He straightened, immediately, turning to regard his companion. "Are you singing Alouette?" he asked, stunned.

"What? It's French. That's the language of romance, Jonny."

"Not if it's Alouette, it's not." He supposed nothing the Joker did should really surprise him anymore, especially singing cheerfully depraved music, but it had still startled him. Possibly because he'd been listening to it without noticing for some time. Well, he supposed acting out the song would explain why the Joker kept poking him. Which made things all the more unsettling.

Joker looked confused for a moment, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he thought. "Why, what does it mean?"

"You speak French well enough to know."

"I don't speak French at all, kitten."

"You did the night that you killed Anna Ramirez. So either you've forgotten since then, or you only speak it when you're drunk. And that just makes no sense at all."

He shrugged. "I happen to be talented like that."

"Whatever." Jonathan stood, stretching. "I'm getting lunch. Want anything?"

"Sure."

The refrigerator was almost completely empty. He supposed they'd have to send the henchmen on a shopping trip soon. He wondered if they bothered to pay for things, or just robbed convenience stores. He'd never put the men he hired in charge of such menial tasks, though it didn't quite work as a comparison because his scars weren't massive and instantly recognizable, and thus he could walk into stores without people shrieking and dialing 911.

He returned to the living room, plates in hand. "I made you a sandwich."

"Thanks." He took the plate, and after pulling his gloves off, proceeded to tear the food into bite-sized pieces. _So I was right about limited facial mobility, _Jonathan thought, watching him eat. It shouldn't come a surprise that he couldn't bite well, given how massive and thick the scars were, but he spoke so fluently it was sometimes easy to forget the severity of the injury.

"You could at least use a knife," he chided.

"I don't waste my knives on mundane things like food, scaredy cat."

"There are knives in the kitchen."

"And walking in there would take effort." He chewed with his mouth open, and Jonathan couldn't tell if that was also due to the scars or just lack of care for etiquette.

"You're getting mayo all over your hands."

The Joker's response to this was to wipe his fingers across Jonathan's lips.

"Hey!"

"Well, that's what you get for nagging like a housewife." Joker caught him staring and smirked, running a hand across the right scar. "Wanna know how I got 'em?"

"That depends. Will the story end with you cutting my face open?"

"Hey, I've told Harley about 'em before, and her mouth is still intact."

"Fine," he said, ignoring the slight rush of adrenaline to his stomach. "So where'd they come from?"

"First you gotta tell me about yours." He placed a hand on the burn scars on Jonathan's face. "I'm really curious as to where they're from, seeing as how it wasn't the Batman."

Jonathan held in a sigh. It figured. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Why would I laugh, kitten?"

"Just promise."

"Fine. Scout's honor."

Jonathan doubted he'd ever been a Boy Scout, but knew that was the best he'd get. "The night the League of Shadows unleashed my toxin on the city, I'd been poisoned by it myself and confined to the asylum."

"I know that much." He was leaning forward as he listened, attentive as a child hearing a bed time story. Too bad this story wasn't all that entertaining. "You got released with the other psychos, right?"

"Yes. I happened upon a mounted police officer and knocked him out, took the horse, and went riding through the Narrows—"

"Wait a sec." The Joker held up a hand to silence him. "Where'dya learn to ride a horse?"

"College. My roommate's girlfriend was rich and had a stable just outside Gotham. They'd go riding together, sometimes they invited their roommates. Anyway, I was riding through the Narrows, and I happened upon Rachel Dawes."

Joker smirked at the name, and Jonathan, remembering the assistant DA's fate, almost did as well. "She's the one who brought the Bat down on you in the first place, right?"

"Yes. Or at least he arrived very quickly after she did. And God knows she'd been a thorn in my side for far longer than that. So I came across her and decided it was time to repay her in kind for all she'd brought down on me, and…" He trailed off, assuming that would be self-explanatory.

"Well?" the Joker asked, sounding impatient.

_Or not. _"She had a tazer. I think you can figure out how it went from there."

There was a moment of silence, quickly broken by the clown's shrieks of amusement. "Always said she had a little fight in her," he muttered, gasping for breath, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Oh, shut up."

"C'mon, you got taken down by a little girl with a tazer. That's hilarious."

"She wasn't that little." His pride was wounded, mortally, from the feel of it. "She was taller than me."

"Christ, she was, wasn't she?" He went into another hysterical fit, loud enough to make Jonathan's head ache.

"What happened to your promise?"

"I'm not _laughing_, Jonny, I'm, uh, giggling. Totally different."

He considered refuting that and then gave up. There'd be no point. "All right, what about your scars?"

"Right." The Joker straightened up at once, immediately quiet. "See, it's like this. I used to be a control freak, like you. Always had to have things my way, couldn't function if anything was the least bit different than how it should be, you know? So I had this friend, my best friend, who'd tell me I need to lighten up. And one night, my friend's driving me home and the roads are icy, and the car flips."

Jonathan sat, transfixed. It wasn't even the story so much as the way he told it; he was unable to look away.

"So I get this piece of glass straight through my face, right here, see?" He indicated the scar on the right. "And down here," here he stroked the smaller scar at the bottom of his lip. "I was lucky, though. My friend got a piece right through the jugular. He, uh, didn't make it."

"So where'd the other scar come from?" It occurred to him that it was best not to interrupt, but he couldn't help himself.

"I'm getting to that. See, after he died, my little, uh, control problem? Got worse. A lot worse. I guess you could say he'd mellowed me out before. Anyway, it got to the point where I couldn't handle it if anything was the slightest bit off. At all. I'd just break down. And symmetry, you see, was one of my big things. I didn't like it when things were, you know," he gave a crooked smile. "Uneven."

Jonathan could see where this was going, and it turned his stomach.

"So one day, I just can't take it anymore, so I get out a box cutter. Only it hurt so badly, I couldn't quite get it even." He poked the left scar, a jagged mess. "And I'm standing there, bleeding, cursing at myself for being such a goddamn idiot, and I hear my friend right? I don't know if it was from beyond the grave or a, uh, blood loss-induced hallucination, but I can hear him, and he tells me to lighten up. So I did."

He smirked again, at the pale expression on his friend's face. "So now you know. And knowing is half the battle. Whaddya think?"

"Well." He swallowed. "It was an excellent story, even if it was absolutely untrue."

"Untrue? Hey, I resent that."

"What you described was obsessive compulsive disorder. And if you're neurotic, then I'm Santa Claus." All right, so that didn't work as an example as all. The point still came across. "Besides, OCD is a caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain. It doesn't go away just because you've done something stupid. What's the real story?"

Joker giggled. "You know, I think you're the only one who's ever outright called me a liar before, kitten. Even the shrinks at Arkham just say 'Well, that's unlikely,' or 'That isn't what you said before.' I think they're afraid of getting killed. You got balls, kid."

"The real story?" he persisted. If he'd humiliated himself like that, he'd better be getting something out of it.

"The real story is, I don't know the real story."

"What?"

He seemed sincere. Of course, he always did. "I dunno. I've got about a hundred thousand different stories in my head, and they're all equally likely to me, okay? Even the one involving a fight at lunch in kindergarten using a spork shank."

Jonathan stared. Part of him was stunned, part of him felt pity, and part of him wanted to go back to being a psychiatrist and analyze the hell out of this. "You honestly don't—"

From somewhere in the apartment came a loud banging sound, quickly followed by the vents shutting off. Jonathan hadn't noticed they were running, but then, all air vents were that way. You never seemed to hear them until they'd shut off. "What was that?"

"If I had to guess," Joker said, standing, and waving his hand over the ceiling vent. "I'd say the heat broke."

"Oh. Fantastic." This either meant household repairs or finding a new lair, and both sounded about as appealing as anesthetic awareness.


	21. Moving

AN: The 'gun in the classroom' incident is from the comics. Jonathan lost his teaching position for firing it in class to prove a point to his students about fear. In retrospect, he was rather unhinged even before he started the fear toxin experiments.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"Yeah, it's definitely broken." Joker emerged from the closet, wiping grime from the heater against his pants. "And no, I can't fix it. I can't see what was holding it together in the first place, except maybe for the Force."

"Lovely." It shouldn't have made that much of a difference, given that it was only October, but this was Gotham. The weather here never seemed so much a pattern as an attack against the residents, coming in only three varieties: scorching hot, pouring rain, and freezing cold. All right, so there were pleasant or at least mild days, but few and far in between. Jonathan had once heard a theory that Gotham had been built on a portal to some vile, Lovecraftian dimension, and when an October day could be in the low twenties, it was hard to dismiss the idea. He imagined Arkham would be built over the worst of the rift, if it were true. Certainly that would explain the recovery rates and the downward spiral of chaos his life had becoming after taking the administrator position.

All right, so there had been that whole 'dismissed from Gotham University after firing a gun in the classroom' incident before he went to Arkham, but things had been comparatively well.

"So we're finding a new evil lair?" he guessed.

Joker smirked. "Of all the villains, I never thought you'd say things like 'evil lair.' No offense, but you always seem way too uptight to have any fun with what you do."

"Just because I care about my research doesn't mean I can't see that dressing in costume and running wild through the city is ridiculous." Less ridiculous when he did it, though, as his mask actually served a purpose, with the air filter. And he didn't have a full costume, unlike the other rogues. Well, sometimes a straitjacket, but that wasn't a stylistic choice so much as being forced to fight too soon after he'd broken out to change.

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd feel that way about yourself," he said, as if reading Jonathan's thoughts. "You're kinda a complete narcissist."

"Am not."

"Are so. Betcha if I wanted, I could get you to do absolutely anything if I complimented you enough."

"Is it a good idea to tell me your plans to manipulate me before you try them?" Jonathan asked drily. Not that he needed forewarning. If he were being manipulated, he would know. Probably. The Joker was unpredictable and emotional in areas where Jonathan only had logic, but he wasn't an idiot. He'd be able to tell.

"Ah, you'd never see it coming anyway."

"I doubt that."

"I don't." He shrugged. "Anyway, yeah, we need a new lair."

Wonderful. House-hunting with the Joker. He could just picture that. It would be something like that television show _House Hunters _crossed with a snuff film. Oh, this was giving him a migraine already. He tried to look on the bright side, only to find that there weren't enough positive things here to outweigh the bad, only small perks. "Can the new lair not be covered in filth?" he asked. It really wasn't that much of a request, he didn't think. It could work.

Another shrug. "Dunno how clean my men usually keep things. If it bothers you that much, I guess I can tell 'em to—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Jonathan held his hands up, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He had a guess he knew where this was going, and were he the praying type, he would have been petitioning God to prove his wrong. He still did, actually, on the off chance it might work. "What do you mean, your men?"

"Well, we're going to stay with them, obviously," Joker said, his ever-present grin widening.

_Damn him for enjoying this. _What sort of sick freak was amused by another's suffering? Besides himself, it was fine when he did it. "Couldn't we just stay here and…burn things for warmth?"

"Do you have a fear of people we need to conquer next, or are you just misanthropic? C'mon, kitten, it's not that bad. If any of 'em are idiots I'll shoot 'em. Or let you run tests on 'em, or something. Besides, you can order 'em around all you want. It's great."

"But _why _do we have to go there in the first place? Why can't we just find a different apartment?" He didn't want to be around others, test subjects or not. The more people around, the great the chance something would go wrong. And he couldn't stand the thought of carrying on their relationship in front of others. That had something to do with being called a faggot one too many times as a kid, probably.

"Because you said you'd have the chemicals mixed right in about a week, and I don't wanna slow down the process. I'd like to get Batsy's attention as soon as possible." The glitter in his eyes told Jonathan he'd been planning ways to get the Batman's attention, all of them surely horrible.

"I could have been wrong," he offered, without much hope. "It might take much longer, so we may as well find another apartment."

"I'm not stupid, you know." Joker took hold of Jonathan's hand, his grip not yet forceful but hinting that it could become so, and lead him back toward the bedroom. "And neither are you, my little genius. If you said it'd be ready in a week, it will. I have the utmost confidence in you, Jonny."

"Are you trying to flatter me now?"

"No." Joker released him and gave him a light shove in the direction of their belongings. "I'm threatening you. Now get your stuff together."

Jonathan weighed the benefits of obedience versus defiance and found, to his chagrin, that obedience had no benefits. Thus fifteen minutes time found them in the car, Joker on his cell phone informing whoever had the misfortune to be talking to him that the master bedroom had better be cleared out of them and threatening a number of cruel and unusual punishments if it wasn't. The one with the corkscrew sounded particularly painful, though the electric mixer seemed most creative.

"There's nothing I can do to talk you out of this?" he asked once the clown had hung up. There was no pointing in asking anymore, not really, but perhaps he could annoy the other into giving up.

Joker considered it, tongue over his lips. "Can I deflower you?"

"_No_."

"I was _kidding, _scaredy cat. God, lighten up. Do you ever have fun?"

"I have fun."

Joker raised a brow. "'Kay, what about fun that doesn't involve scaring people?"

"And that shouldn't count why?"

The Joker shook his head, giggling slightly. "What about your split personality? He ever enjoy himself?"

"I don't have a split personality." Jonathan assumed he was referring to Scarecrow. Rather ironic, given that Scarecrow enjoyed frightening others far more than he did, and without any of that boring research attached.

"Your whatever-you-call-it, then. I think Harley referred to it as your unrestrained side in her notes. He sounds interesting."

Jonathan smirked a bit himself, at the thought of it. "I don't think you'd get along."

"Why is that?"

"Because he's a bit of an idiot." He ignored the protest from the back of his mind at this and went on. "He's a little more like you, unrestrained as you said. He doesn't let things like logic or common sense get in his way—"

"Sounds like my kinda guy."

"—So he'd have no problem with poisoning, say, _you_, to see what would happen." Jonathan had considering poisoning him on more than one occasion, honestly. Unlike Scarecrow, he had a better sense of self-preservation than that.

"I can see how that might be a problem."

"Yes."

"I bet he'd be better in bed, though."

The urge to repeatedly smash his head against the dashboard was overwhelming, despite being about ninety percent sure that the Joker wasn't serious. "We're the same person. You do realize that, right?"

"Yeah, but he's less inhibited. Lemme know next time he's around, okay?"

Jonathan did not tell him that at that moment Scarecrow was contemplating all the ways he could knock out Joker's teeth. "Yeah, sure."

When they arrived there were men outside waiting to take their bags. He recognized none of them but Knox, the one with the braids, whom he was slightly surprised to see. Weeks had passed since their last encounter, and he wouldn't have thought a man in the Joker's employ would live that long. Then again, the Joker hadn't carried out any plans recently, so that may have added on to the expected life span.

This apartment was cleaner—well, anything would have been cleaner than the last one, which still had a thin layer of dirt over everything no matter how hard it was scrubbed—and far better lit, he was happy to discover. If it weren't for the smell of alcohol pervading through everything, from the carpets to the bed sheets to the air itself, and the constant talk reminding him of the presence of others, it would have been perfect.

He lay back on the bed, considering the situation. Joker didn't have any respect for privacy, at least not that he'd seen, and no need for any himself, so more than likely he'd been willing to carry things on as they'd been when the pair was alone. Or possibly carry them on further. Joker gave the impression of being a bit of an exhibitionist, he thought. Unless it risked his men's respect; Jonathan wasn't sure if he'd be more likely to kill any dissenters and go on as usual, or avoid the issue all together and ignore the relationship.

_So my choices are be his trophy wife or be shunned. Fantastic._

His mental struggle was interrupted when the door opened, and he sat up to see Knox come in, carrying the last box of chemicals. "Matter where I put this?"

Jonathan shrugged. "You're still alive, then?" If he was going to live here, he might as well begin adding slight threats to his words now. A henchman who didn't fear you was a stab in the back waiting to happen.

Unfortunately, the man seemed amused more than anything else. "It's not that hard to do, if you're not an idiot about it. How've you been?"

"Fine." Who just up and started conversations with super villains, especially when there was a great supply of dangerous chemicals around? Maybe that was his strategy, confuse everyone too much to kill him. Or to seem likeable. Whatever. There were currently about five people in the entire world that he liked, and he didn't see the list expanding any time soon.

He noticed a smile growing on the man's face and stiffened a bit, out of annoyance more than anything else. "Something for you?"

"Nothing." He sounded amused. Jonathan, both irritated and a little apprehensive, tried followed Knox's gaze and realized he seemed to be staring at Jonathan's neck. Where, he remembered, the skin was still discolored from the Joker's bite.

_Oh, this is just great. _He raised a hand to cover the mark, but the damage had been done. "Let me guess, seeing that just won you a bet?"

He nodded, probably thinking it best not to answer. Correctly, because if Jonathan heard so much as the start of a smart remark, he may have killed him. He still might.

"Hey kids." The Joker shouldered past Knox and into the room, carrying his suitcase of weapons. Only he was allowed to touch it, as he'd explained to Jonathan when they were loading the car, though the thing must have weighed over a hundred pounds from all he had it in. It made sense though, he supposed, that the weapons would be the most important thing to the man.

Knox wisely took the moment of distraction to make his exit.

"They know about us," Jonathan informed the Joker, watching as he slid the suitcase under the bed. "Does that bother you?'

"Not unless they make it an issue. They do, they're dead. That cool with you?"

"Yes," he said, hoping he'd be the one to do it. "That's perfectly acceptable."


	22. Discussion

AN: Sorry about the delay, yesterday consisted mostly of a shopping trip (Dear God, now I know why I always get my gifts far, far in advance. The mall was a nightmare.) and a visit to my uncle's. Today consisted of mostly work, and now _The Princess Bride _is on in the other room, tempting me. Ah, Inigo. Sorry, I digress.

This chapter mostly exists because I wanted Jonathan to interact with someone who wasn't the Joker, for once. Also, I like writing Jonathan being a narcissist without realizing it. I have no explanation for the opening scene, however. My mind is a strange place to be.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"C'mon, Jonny, it'll be fun."

"Absolutely not." He tried once more to close the bedroom door, impossible with the Joker's foot blocking it. His own foot was trying to drive the clown's out, but it was a fruitless struggle, given the difference in strength.

"You might like it, you know. How are you ever gonna find out if you don't try?"

"I don't need to try. I'd hate it. And if you want the toxin as soon as possible, you need to stop distracting me."

Joker pouted, and did what Jonathan took as an attempt at puppy dog eyes. Given the makeup, scars, and everything else about him, it wasn't very effective. "You can't take even a little break? It wouldn't take that long."

"Not interested, sorry." He tried kicking the Joker's foot out of the way. The only result was that he might have broken one of his own toes. "Ow."

"We could stop if you don't like it, kitten. What can it hurt to give it a try?"

"For the hundredth time, I don't want to try." He went back to pushing with his uninjured foot, to no avail. "Besides, I don't know how."

"I can teach you. It's not that hard."

"I have no interest in playing _Grand Theft Auto_ with you," Jonathan said. "I have no interest in playing _Grand Theft Auto _at all. Shouldn't you be planning your Attract the Bat scheme anyway?" Damn whatever idiot had invented video games and damn whichever henchman had brought them here. If one needed proof that intelligence was slowly being bred out of humanity, Jonathan believed they need look no further than Nitendo, Atari, and whatever other companies produced such filth.

"We've got other games." Joker paused. "Er…do you like DDR?"

"What I like is creating deadly compounds. Which you are keeping me from doing. Which is slowing down your operation. Which is keeping you from your rendezvous with Batman. So it is for your happiness that I stay in here."

"Can I at least have a kiss?" he asked, still frowning.

"If it'll get you to shut up, then yes." He opened the door slightly more, still keeping his full weight on it in case the Joker tried coming in, and their lips met. When he pulled back to wipe the lipstick from his face, Joker abruptly stopped pushing back against the door, causing Jonathan to slam it into his own foot.

"_Disgraziato_!"

"What was that?" The Joker dodged a shoe thrown at his head, laughing.

"Italian."

"For what?"

Jonathan slammed the door in his face.

* * *

Three hours later and he was ready to start breaking things.

God, how he hated dead ends. Or hidden ends, anyway. There really were no dead ends, only ways of going about things he hadn't thought of yet. He'd never faced a real dead end; being a genius, he'd always been able to find some way to achieve what he wanted. It took time yes, but an answer always came to him. _Not that knowing that makes the waiting any less annoying._ Scarecrow wanted to break things. Jonathan was severely tempted, but he needed all the equipment around him and doubted Joker would appreciate it if he put his foot through the bedroom's TV.

Behind him, he heard the door creak open.

"Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"You haven't heard the question yet."

_Not the Joker's voice, _Jonathan realized with a start, turning. Knox stood in the doorway, looking every bit as happy as Jonathan felt. "It's still no." _See, this is what happens when you start living with your lackeys. _Give them the familiarity of sharing a home, and they started thinking they could ask for things. He wished he had his fear toxin. He could kill this man with the laughing gas, yes, but it wasn't the same. Laughing didn't give the pleasure screaming did, even if he knew from experience the sensation was the same.

"It's nothing you'd have to do," he said quickly, as if sensing Jonathan's displeasure. He probably had. Working for the Joker so long would require a good sense of when to shut the hell up. "I'm getting a headache from the noise out there, is all." He tilted his head back toward the door, braids swinging. Even through the wood the sounds of shouting could be heard. Video game violence inspired quite an uproar, it seemed. "Could I just sit in here or would that piss you off too badly?"

"Can't you sit in the bathroom?" It didn't bother him usually, having people around when he worked—as long as they were quiet—but he wasn't in the best of moods now. And he'd never been particularly disposed to generosity.

"Tried that. They keep coming in and out."

"There aren't any closets in this place?"

"Tried that too. I'm too tall to fit under the shelves, it seems. And the kitchen's open to the living room," he said, before Jonathan could ask.

"Fine." If he turned out to be bothersome, he'd use the laughing gas regardless of its less than satisfactory method. Or maybe just pour unmixed chemicals down the man's throat, if he could subdue him. Doubtful, but he could dream. Joker wouldn't be able to complain; he'd given him permission, after all.

"Things aren't going so well?" Knox asked, sitting down by the door.

"What would give you that impression?" Oh, so he wanted to make conversation. Well, that was a bad omen.

Knox shot a glance to the many papers littering the floor, most discarded formulas, and many with obscenities scribbled on them. "Last I checked, "fuck" isn't a scientific term. That, and I stood in the hall for around ten minutes debating whether or not to come in, and heard a lot of swearing. At least, I assume it was swearing. I don't speak German."

"Russian," Jonathan corrected, only half-listening. Standing around for ten minutes before opening the door indicated fear, which showed the man wasn't a complete fool, at least. True, even vermin had a sense of danger, but he'd assumed his particular brand of terror was too subtle for street thugs, and here he was viewed as weak, unintimidating compared to the Joker. _This one's got a few brain cells to rub together, at least. _That, or he was lying about the fear to get on Jonathan's good side, but henchmen weren't that smart.

"You're fluent?"

"No. Most languages I can only curse in." He turned back to his notes, wondering if it wouldn't be best just to quit for the night. Sometimes it was best to sleep on these things. Of course, every time he slept on a problem he ended up with incredibly frustrating chemistry-based dreams.

"Still impressive."

"Thank you." All right, so Knox was no longer on the kill list. That didn't remove him from the non-lethal experimentation list, however. At least not yet. Silence fell between them and he went back to the task at hand. He wasn't sleeping on this. He doubted he'd be able to, giving how incredibly annoying this snag was.

About twenty minutes passed before Knox spoke again. "Exactly what are you trying to do?"

The sudden words startled him, though to his credit, he didn't jump. "Do what?"

"With the poison. The boss said it's like laughing gas, but he didn't get into the details."

"Do you know what the fear gas I designed did?" he asked. Anyone who'd been in Gotham on that night the League had released the stuff should know, he assumed, but he didn't know the man's background, and having not achieved the Joker's level of notoriety, there remained those who didn't know Scarecrow had been behind that.

Knox, however, apparently did. "Like a bad acid trip, right? Seeing things, terrified, like that?"

"Correct." Very correct, give that his compound had actually been mixed with LSD during his drug dealing business, among other illicit substances. But that wasn't worth going into. It was the low point of his career, not to mention irrelevant to the current topic. "This one does the same, only it makes the victim laugh at the same time. And ideally, freeze a smile on their face, even after death."

"Ideally?"

"That's where I'm stuck." He indicated the profanity-covered papers, deciding that he may as well explain. It wasn't as if this lackey was going to offer up any great thoughts, but talking through it might help jumpstart his own mind. "The muscle stretching and subsequent paralysis bit will have to occur through skin contact, I think, because I can't exactly program a chemical to find a specific point in the body and only affect that."

"Isn't that what the laughing part does, though?"

"Yes, but it's made up of chemicals that will only react in the parts of the brain that trigger those sensations. As far as I know, there's no paralyzing chemical that only affects the cheek muscles. So I'm trying to devise a way to make it contact-based, which still raises the problem of other facial muscles, like those around the eyes."

"Oh. Yeah, I can see why you're stuck."

"Mmm-hmmm."

Another few minutes passed. When it became clear he wasn't finding a solution any time soon, he turned back to the man seated against the wall. "So what's your story?"

"Nothing interesting."

"There has to be something." He straightened, closing his notebook. "You've managed to survive working for the Joker for at least a month, haven't you?"

"I've been with him since his first attack on Gotham," Knox said, a slight smile coming to his face.

"Right. Which means you're not a complete idiot."

"Oh, thanks."

"Well, no one working for the clown is exactly smart. I don't count," he added, as Knox began to open his mouth. "I was forced into it. What on Earth made you pick him as your employer?"

Knox shrugged. "He's persuasive."

_To say the least, _Jonathan thought, recalling all the times he'd been talked into doing something. About half the things he'd done since the partnership began, looking back. "Still. The man was wearing clown makeup and threatening people with potato peelers. That didn't strike you as, I don't know, insane?"

Another shrug. "Everybody's got their gimmick. Most aren't as dramatic as the boss's, but they've all got them. It was a small group, to start with, so I figured the money would be better." A pause, a glance at Jonathan as if he were debating whether or not to say something. "And he was a lot more…put together back then, you know? Less…well, still impulsive, but not so…intense?"

"How do you mean?"

"Back then, the things he did were more for his own enjoyment. Now it's all about the Batman. I don't know if he wants to draw him out, kill him, or impress him, but he's obsessed."

_True. Very true. _Analyzing the Joker's odd dependence on his nemesis would be interesting to say the least, but he doubted the clown would be happy if he found out they'd been discussing his psyche. That sort of thing was best done in his own head. "So, you've managed not to be killed how, exactly?"

"It's not that hard, if you know when to keep your mouth shut. And spend enough time around people, you'll learn how to read them. Your chances of living are much higher if you know when someone's pissed and wants to be left alone, or if they're pissed and want you to cheer them up through compliments or making them feel good about themselves, or something."

"I suppose he would enjoy strokes to his ego." Another point under the antisocial personality disorder checklist.

"Him and others, yeah. You're still stuck?"

He sighed. "I suppose I could try modifying a chemical so it won't react to say, the saline in tears, which would keep the eyelids from being affected. Doesn't solve the issue of the skin around the eyes, though. Or the forehead."

Silence for a bit. Then Knox straightened up. "You only want it to stretch the cheeks, right?"

"Yes."

"And you can design it not to react with chemicals in tears?"

"Yes."

"Is there a way to design it so it'll _only _react with a certain chemical?"

"What, like saline?" He considered it. "Yes, I suppose, but seeing as how I don't want it to affect the eyes, it wouldn't help."

"There are chemicals in spit that aren't in tears or skin, aren't there?" he asked, straightening the sleeves of his coat. "Could you find a way to limit it to that? Then you'd—"

"I'd be able to stretch the mouth and only the mouth from the inside." Jonathan pulled the notebook open with enough force to nearly tear the cover off, already scribbling down ideas. "You, sir, are incredible."

"No, I'm just good at getting on people's good sides."

Jonathan wondered, briefly, if the whole conversation had been a manipulation on Knox's part to get on his good side before casting the thought off and throwing all his mental capacity into the experiments at hand. It was a ridiculous concern anyway. He was far too clever for that. And that was nothing compared to this new development. It might work. It _would_ work.

He could have kissed the man, but when he looked up Knox had left the room, so he went to find the Joker. The clown, still involved in the video game, agreed to stop pistol whipping police officers for a moment and paused the action to hear the news. Upon hearing the announcement, he cheered, then literally swept Jonathan off his feet into a long, fantastic kiss, in front of the henchmen and all.

One expressed disgust, and was promptly shot.


	23. Memory

AN: The court case Joker talks about is true, unfortunately. The woman in question is named Jennifer Thompson, should you want more details on her story.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"Joker. Hey, Joker." Jonathan sat beside him on the bed, poking him repeatedly in the ribs. "Hey. Wake up."

"I'm tired." The words were muttered into his pillow, barely intelligible. "Leave me alone."

"Well, now the boot is on the other foot, isn't it?"

There was a pause. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that this is payback for all the times you've woken me," Jonathan said, with a smile and shove. "Now get up."

He did, albeit after a few more minutes protest, muttering death threats as he sat up against the headboard. However, given that most of his makeup had come off in the night and what remained was a grayish-red mess, it was hard to be intimidated. "When was the last time you slept?" he asked, glaring at his companion.

"Er…two days ago. What?" he asked when the clown stared. Sleep was irrelevant, something to be avoided if it sped his toxin-making process. Sure, it was essential for life, but it could still be avoided for a week, at least.

"And they call me insane." Still looking decidedly displeased, he shook his head to clear the hair from his face, like a dog. "What's so important it couldn't wait until a decent hour?"

"Ten o'clock is very decent."

"The _point_, Jonny."

Sensing that he was about five seconds from having a knife shoved in his mouth, Jonathan decided it was best to be concise with his words. "Poison's done."

Ah, now he had the Joker's undivided attention. How he loved watching the man's eyes light up that way when he knew he had caused it. "Totally done?"

"Not totally. I still have to run tests to make sure it works as planned, but the basic formula is finished. From here on it'll be modifying the ingredients as opposed to altering what composes the—" He trailed off as the Joker's hands entwined in his hair, moving him forwards so the clown's lips met his forehead.

"You, my little genius, are fantastic," he said, caressing Jonathan's face.

"I know." He felt a flush of heat through his body, as he'd felt whenever Joker complimented him since the relationship had begun, though he'd no idea why. But then, everything had changed since he'd said yes, and he supposed physical sensations should be no exception.

"We should celebrate."

"We should."

Joker looked surprised for a moment, as if for once actually stunned that things were going his way. It was replaced by his standard smirk quickly enough, however. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yes." He smiled back, untangling the Joker's fingers from his hair and standing. "Breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Joker repeated, with the air of a man whose dreams had just been shattered before him.

"Yeah. I haven't eaten in two days either." He narrowly dodged a pillow sent flying towards him.

"You little tease."

Jonathan thought it best to leave before Joker got his hands on something heavy. "See you in the kitchen."

He made his way down the hall and through the living room, noting the bloodstain still in the carpet from the henchman Joker had shot a few days ago. Jonathan had suggested that they move the body and wash the stain out immediately, but the Joker, apparently still angry at being insulted, had insisted they all sit for a lecture about why words like 'fucking fag pervert' were not acceptable and that anyone else caught using them in regards to either Jonathan or himself would have to sit in the corner with soap in their mouth for an hour. Only by soap in the mouth he meant a bullet in the brain, and by an hour he meant until it rotted out. Jonathan imagined the point had gotten across—the bit where he'd emptied his gun into the corpse's crotch had certainly helped—but he doubted the stain would ever come out now.

The kitchen turned out to be a total disappointment.

"There's no food in here," he announced as the Joker came in, makeup reapplied but hair still disheveled.

"Sure there is." He tilted his head toward a box of Twinkies lying on its side by the sink.

"That doesn't count. I mean, there's nothing here that constitutes food, not nutrition-wise."

"God, you're picky."

"No, I'm sensible." Jonathan crossed the room to the Joker, scrutinizing him each step of the way. "Have you looked at yourself lately?"

"Just a minute ago, in fact. And I'm hot." He met Jonathan's stare and frowned. "What?"

"Down here," he said, taking hold of a strand of the Joker's hair by the shoulder, "your hair is dirty blond. But up here," he raised his hand nearly to the roots, "it's light blond. Almost white. Do you know what that means?"

"Er…that the dye's affecting the hair shafts?"

"It means you're malnourished, idiot." He pulled his hand away, trying not to shudder at the oil remaining on his fingers. "Meaning if you don't take better care of yourself, you could end up dead, or brain damaged, or with scurvy—"

"Hey, scurvy's cool," Joker said, shrugging. "It's a pirate disease, and pirates are awesome."

"It's not awesome when your teeth fall out, your scars open back up, and you walk around constantly bleeding from the gums and nose. Or when you shit yourself to death. Yes, that happens," he added, off the Joker's stare. "Death by shitting."

Joker blinked. "Well, they sure don't tell you that at Disney World."

Jonathan doubted Joker had ever been to Disney World, but that was beside the point. "We're going shopping. For actual food."

He made a face. "That's what henchmen are for, kitten."

"I thought henchmen were for laundry."

"They're for any menial task. And out of curiosity, were you expecting for us to just stroll into Wal*Mart with no one noticing, or would we be in disguise?"

"No disguises."

Joker raised a brow. "Really?"

"You're the one who wanted to attract the Batman's attention, and I need to test the laughing gas. We may as well kill three birds with one stone." Having caught the Joker's interest, he continued. "I was thinking we'd go somewhere small, easily subdued, and try the toxin there. How does that sound?"

"Potentially badass." He considered it, tongue pushing against his scars from the inside. "All right, let's do this."

* * *

It was a convenience store right where the Narrows began to merge with the more respectable parts of town, small and, judging by the view from the windows, near empty. Not that that stopped the Joker from bringing enough weapons to supply a small army, but Jonathan was fairly sure he always carried that much. And the arsenal had its uses. When Jonathan raised the possibility of a silent alarm, Joker produced a pair of wire cutters, disappeared around the building for a moment, and upon returning, took Jonathan's hand and led him inside.

They weren't three steps inside before Joker grabbed hold of Jonathan's shirt, turning him so they were in the path of a security camera, and kissed him, suddenly and hard enough to be painful. Eyes open, Jonathan felt a moment of panic—_Someone's going to see us, you idiot_—but it appeared that luck was on their side, as was so often the case with the Joker. At least, he heard no screaming or running away, and thanked his lucky stars for that.

"What are you doing?" he whispered when the clown pulled back, face flushed with what was only partly anger.

He tilted his head toward the camera. "Showing Bats what he's missing. It was your idea, remember?"

Ah. That. He'd almost managed to forget the purpose of their antics was to make the Batman jealous, not just draw him out. He felt that twinge in his chest again and brushed it off, pulling his mask over his head. "You get the customers. Testing this on the cashiers should be enough."

He pulled back his sleeve to make sure the spray of the gas wouldn't be cut off, as the Joker took off down the nearest aisle, laughing madly and thus completely ruining the cover they'd miraculously held onto for that long. _Idiot, _Jonathan though affectionately, running in the direction of the cash registers and jumping over the counter, blasting the unfortunate girl standing behind it in the face as he landed.

The effect was near instantaneous; she fell to the floor at once, shaking and screaming with laughter. In the back of his mind, Scarecrow was giggling like an idiot and begging to be let out to play, but Jonathan kept him in check for the moment. Scarecrow tended to neglect rather important parts of the scientific process, such as observing the effects. Kneeling down beside the girl, he forced her head back to watch the progress of the smile on her face. First, there was nothing, save for a twitch at the corners of her mouth, but after a moment, it stretched out, wider and wider until there was no more room, and then more.

Jonathan stood, stepping back just in time to avoid being splattered with blood as the girl's skin ripped, leaving her cheeks in torn shreds, much the way the Joker's must have looked before they healed. _Made that a little too strong then, _he thought, watching with detached amusement as she bled out, laughing all the while. The laughing was really ruining the effect, but the fear in her eyes almost made up for it.

"_Jessica_!"

He turned, remembering the other cashier, hands up to defend himself against attack. He needn't have bothered. The teenager, who looked weak and easy to overpower anyway, stood still as the grave, face draining and legs shaking as he stared, aghast, at his dying coworker. "Jesus Christ…" he muttered, as the girl began to choke on her blood.

It still wasn't screaming, but the suffocating sounds were nearly as good. "I could get used to this."

Only then did the cashier seem to realize his presence. "Motherfucker! I'm g—" He found the toxin around Jonathan's wrist pointed in his direction and shut up, quickly. Smarter than he looked, maybe.

"Unless you want to end up like your friend there, I'd suggest you don't try my patience." Oh, watching his eyes go wide was _fantastic. _Definitely made up for all the laughing. Hell, it made up for everything he'd been through lately, dislocated shoulder and all.

"How's it going, Jonny?" Joker asked from somewhere in frozen foods.

"Well…" Toxin still angled at the teen, he shot a quick glance to the body at the floor, life slowly draining from her eyes. "It appears I made the paralyzing agent a bit too strong. We can't have it rip the face and keep the smile intact, I'm afraid. Once the skin tears, it slackens again. I can keep the smile if the concentration is weaker, I think, but you won't get the rips."

"Aw. You sure it wasn't just a bad reaction? Have you tested the other one?"

"No yet." He smirked under the mask as the boy's face went paler than ever. "Is it all right with you if I enjoy his fear for a bit longer?"

"Enjoy away, kitten, everyone back here's taken care of."

"You're getting the things on the list then?"

"Do I have to get a toothbrush?"

"Yes. That is not a debatable item."

The teen's face was switching between terror and confusion at a remarkable rate. Jonathan wished he had some way of recording it.

"I don't care if I've got gingivitis, though."

"Get it or I will never kiss you again." He'd found that, very unlike himself, the Joker seemed to thrive on physical contact and decided denying it would be the best way to get something. That, or get himself killed. He was willing to risk it in this case though. The clown's hygiene was really unacceptable.

"Fucking queer!"

"Hey." His full attention was back on the little bastard at once. "If I want your opinion, I'll cut out your voice box."

There was a pause, before Joker spoke up again. "Jonny? That made no sense as a threat. You know that, right?"

"It got away from me a bit," he admitted, taking a step toward the teen. The look on his face was almost enough to abate Jonathan's anger, but not quite. He was preparing to give the idiot a face full of the laughing gas when Joker distracted him.

"Hey, they've got ice cream."

"We don't need ice cream."

"But it's good. Don'tya ever have any fun, scaredy cat?"

He sighed and turned, annoyed. "If you must, then get it. But be quick about things, would you?"

"What kind do you like?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course! How about strawberry, is that good?"

"_No,_" he said, feeling the start of a headache.

"What've you got against strawberry?"

"I'm _allergic._"

"Oh. Whaddya like, then?"

_Christ. _"I don't know. Mint."

"Seriously? That stuff tastes like toothpaste."

Jonathan smirked. "And you would know what toothpaste tastes like how, exact—"

WHAM.

He didn't feel anything, at first. The pressure of contact, and then an odd absence of feeling, of all sensation except a ringing in his ears. A few seconds later it all snapped back, the pain of the blow, the shattered sound of whatever he'd been hit with breaking over his head, and most of all, the sharp, agonizing pain of a jagged edge from the weapon penetrating the burlap of the mask and slashing him across the scalp. He felt the blood flowing before he hit the floor.

Upon impact, he rolled onto his back, broken—glass, he realized—cutting into his skin where he landed. Over him stood the cashier, face contorted in a mix of rage and panic, broken bottle in hand. _Joy, _he thought, heart racing. _Death by soda bottle. I'll be the laughingstock of all villainy, forever. Pathetic, it's just—_

And then the Joker was jumping over the counter, shopping basket still in one hand, feet planting into the teen's chest as he came down, knocking him to the floor. Satisfied that he was too stunned to get up for a moment, Joker made his way to Jonathan, pulling the mask off and examining the wound beneath.

"Good job!" he said brightly, shoving the mask into Jonathan's hand.

Jonathan could only stare. "What?" _Glad my pain is amusing to you?_

"Use that to stop the bleeding," Joker instructed, tapping the mask, then turned back to the fallen boy. "Hey, you." Jonathan tilted his head back, watched as the clown wrenched the broken bottle from the little bastard's hand. "You're fucking dead, asshole. Nobody breaks my Jonathan but me, got it?"

No answer. He pressed a jagged edge of glass against the boy's throat, drawing blood. "_Got it?_"

"G-got it," he gasped.

"Good. Now, there's nothing I'd like more than to draw this out as loooooong as possible," he pushed down the glass again, causing a whimper. "But my friend's bleeding rather badly." The last bit was said happily again, to Jonathan's ever growing confusion. "So I'll make it quick. You wanna know how I got these scars?"

A sob.

"See, I had a brother, who had a boyfriend, and a lotta intolerant bigots in the neighborhood, like yourself, couldn't handle that. Used to follow us on the way to school and yell things, or throw things. Sometimes we'd get hit. He was scared, wanted to hide, not provoke 'em or anything. I just laughed in their faces. Well, one day, we run into 'em on the weekend, and they're wicked drunk, and armed. My brother got his throat slit. Me, on the other hand, they decided to punish me for all the laughing, so with me, they do _this._"

Jonathan heard a slicing sound, closed his eyes, and found his glasses splattered with blood when he opened them again. Joker's hands were on him almost at once, one added more pressure to where the mask was held against the wound, the other pulling him up. "C'mon Jonny, you're okay."

"Make sure you've got what we came here for. I don't want today to be a complete waste."

"'Kay."

How he got into the car was a blur. One second it seemed he'd been standing by the cash register, the next strapped in the passenger's seat as the car sped. "So was that story true?"

"What, about my boyfriend and me? Yeah."

"I thought it was your brother?" he asked, brows furrowing.

"Was it? I don't know. Your head getting broken had me a little distracted, Jonny." That same singsong voice. Jonathan gritted his teeth.

"Yeah, thanks so much for your concern. Don't sound so sad about it."

"I'm not happy," he said, brightly. "I'm trying to confuse you."

"The hell?" He sat up a bit more, regretting it as his vision swam.

"If you're focused on your injury, it'll make your heart speed up, and you'll bleed more," Joker explained conversationally. "But if I confuse you with the 'good jobs' and the 'way to go's,' you won't have time to freak out and make yourself worse."

He blinked. That was oddly touching. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Seriously though. You do realize it's not normal for your memory to change that way, right?"

"Memory's not all that reliable to begin with anyway. Take that rape case."

"What rape case?" His head was really beginning to hurt now. He couldn't wait until they got home.

"There was this girl, right? Early twenties, got raped, identified the perpetrator, and the whole trial was based on her eyewitness testimony. So the guy went to jail, appealed, lost again, rotted in prison for a while. Finally, he heard about a DNA test that could clear him, got released, real rapist was identified. He and the girl who got him in jail actually became friends, right? Going around, lecturing on why eyewitnesses aren't always reliable."

He remembered hearing about the case before, in college. It was important for some reason, but hard to remember why with this pain in his head. "What's your point?"

"My point is, that after knowing this guy didn't rape her, and seeing the guy who did, even after becoming friends with the wrong accused, the girl's said she still see the innocent guy raping her when she remembers that day. My point is, memory isn't reliable."

"That's a _consistent_ false memory, though. Yours seems to change every time your train of thought does."

He shrugged. "Details."

Jonathan sighed, feeling blood trickle through his hair, and pressed down harder against the mask. He stared out the window for a moment, realized he recognized none of the buildings flying by and whirled to face the Joker, regretting it as the car seemed to spin. "Where are we going?"

"Back alley doctor."

"_What?_"

"You're really hurt," he said happily. "I could probably stitch it, yeah, but you lost a lotta blood, kitten. You might need a transfusion. Better safe than sorry."

"You consider a back alley doctor to be _safe_?" he demanded, feeling sick.

"This guy, yeah. I'd trust him with my life."

"Fuck," Jonathan muttered, sinking against the seat and thinking death by soda bottle wouldn't have been so bad after all.

* * *

AN: The "good job" injury thing is a combination of my high school biology teacher telling us wounds, even severe ones, bleed less if the victim is calm, and my psych professor telling us that she tells her children "Way to go!" and the like every time they hurt themselves to confuse them out of crying. I have no idea if it works in the real world, but it seemed like a Jokery behavior.


	24. Friends

AN: Sorry about the delay, got a bit distracted with work and Christmas and whatnot. I hope everyone enjoyed their holiday, I know I did. In regards to the chapter, I'm not really sure where these characters came from, other than that I wanted to portray the type of people I thought the Joker would attract. The 'knock someone over and give them a cookie' bit was inspired by a flashback in the fantastic movie _Sybil_, where Sybil's mother does the same to her, only on stairs. It seemed a Jokery thing to do.

In regards to Jackie—it's a variant on what's commonly thought to be his name, and something he likely made up on the spot when they asked.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"I am _begging_ you," Jonathan said, teeth clenched as he felt what little remained of his dignity fall to pieces. "Just take me home. If I bleed out, I bleed out. I've lived a good life, and you've got the toxin now, even if it doesn't work exactly as planned. I only ask that you cremate my body."

"I'm going to assume that you're talking this way because of blood loss," Joker said, with a glance at the bloodstained mask Jonathan was holding against the cut. "'Cause if you're actually suicidal, that's no fun at all."

"All right, you don't even have to cremate the body. You can defile it in any way you want, just turn the car around."

"Nice try." He accelerated, grinning at his companion's aghast expression. "Necrophiles fuck dead people because they're afraid of being rejected by a living partner. I fear nothing. So that fails as incentive. Really, kitten, how didya become a psychiatrist if you don't things like that?"

Jonathan buried his face in his free hand.

"What are you so scared of, anyway? You have a bad experience with a doctor once or something?"

"No. But I've heard stories." He shivered.

"Like what?"

"Back in college, I had a friend who interned at an ER. One night, he said they brought in a girl who'd had a failed attempt at an abortion. I don't know if she was too poor to afford a legitimate one, or what, but she'd tried to do it herself with a broken glass bottle."

Joker winced. "What, she didn't have any coat hangers?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Well, she came in, bleeding and unconscious, with what they thought was the umbilical cord hanging out. Which turned out to be part of her intestines."

"God."

"And that is why I don't like the idea of letting anyone but a trained professional treating me for anything."

"You're not getting an abortion, Jonny." He put his hand on Jonathan's shoulder, making his driving even more erratic than usual. "We're talking stitches here. It's not brain surgery."

"I would still rather bleed to death."

"It would be a long and painful process. You know that, right?"

"For a while. But the final stage of blood loss is euphoria."

"So not gonna happen." He took his hand off Jonathan, putting the car in park. "We're here, so the debate's over. Think you can walk?"

"I'm not moving."

"Well, then I'm moving you." He was over the Joker's shoulder in seconds, watching cracked asphalt move by as the clown walked.

"Let me down."

"No, I don't think I will."

_I hate my life_. He watched from under the Joker's arm as they approached an apartment building that looked about twelve seconds from collapsing. Lovely. He was going to die from infected stitches going septic, a long terrible process, just because the Joker was too self-centered to take him back injured. _A real friend would let me bleed out._

Joker knocked, in a strange pattern Jonathan thought might be the rhythm of a song. "Is that a secret code?"

"No. I just thinking knocking the normal way is boring."

"Maybe they're not home," he offered, without much hope.

"It's been like five seconds." The door opened as he spoke. Jonathan, from his position upside down and behind the Joker's body, couldn't see of the figure in the doorway, beyond that it was a young woman with long hair. He could, however, perfectly hear the near ear-piercing shriek she let out.

"_Jackie_!"

"Jackie?" Jonathan asked, and the Joker didn't have time to answer before the girl collided into them. He was almost dropped. "Ow."

"Watch it, honey, I'm carrying something breakable."

"Jackie, how have you been? Are you all right? Where's Harley? Is that Harley?" She tapped Jonathan's shoe. "Doesn't look like Harley."

"It isn't." There was a blur of motion, and Jonathan found himself in Joker's arms, staring up at a girl in her early twenties, brown hair and eyes. "This is Jonathan. Jonathan, this is Abigail."

"Your name is Jackie?" he asked, dazed.

"I dunno. It could be."

"He's adorable." She reached out, stroking his bloody hair.

"Hey. Jonathan's _my_ friend." Joker took a step back. "And he's injured. Is your brother around?"

"Yeah. Come on in." She stepped through the door. "Hey, Adrian?"

"Joker, who are these people?" Jonathan asked, head aching with each step the clown took.

"Friends."

"You have friends?"

"Sorta. It's fine, all will be explained."

Abigail was over top of him again, accompanied by two new faces; one, a man in his late twenties with the same curly dark hair she had, and another, a girl identical to Abigail, aside from shorter hair and what appeared to be bright turquoise hearing aids in either ear. "What happened to him?" the man, Adrian, he assumed, asked, running a hand over the mask held against the injury.

"Little accident with some broken glass."

"You can never have a normal date, can you?" Before Jonathan could protest, he moved his hand, turning away. "Bring him into the dining room."

"Right. Hey, Anika."

The short haired girl was standing above him. "Yeah?" She spoke a little too loudly, the word making Jonathan's head pound.

"Get the blood off his glasses, would you?"

"Hey—" They were off. "I need those."

"You'll get 'em back." She patted him on the shoulder and was off.

"Joker, this is unacceptable."

"You just don't like people, that's your problem."

He was put down on a chair, Joker's hands still on his shoulders as if he didn't trust him not to fall over. A moment later Abigail—or he assumed it was Abigail anyway, she appeared to be about the same height and wearing the same colors the woman had had—entered, placing something on the table in front of him. By the sound it made upon contact it was heavy, and by the scent it was cookies.

"They're chocolate chip," she said. "I know you like the sugar ones better, but we didn't have any around. We can make some, if you think you'll be here long enough."

_That's it, the world has officially gone mad, _Jonathan thought, his headache now from confusion more than the injury. Joker having a back alley doctor, that was one thing. Most criminals did; after all, who else would fix you up after a bullet wound without asking questions or filing incident reports? Joker having friends, on the other hand, friends who called him by what could be his first name—the idea of the Joker having a name was also oddly off-putting—and baked him cookies, that was just insane. Try as he might, he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He was vaguely aware that Joker was speaking and listened, hoping to hear something that would make sense of this.

"No, don't worry about it. Hey, I'm gonna use your refrigerator. I've got ice cream I'd rather not have destroyed."

_Well, that's helpful. _"You got ice cream?"

"Yeah. It's, uh, fudge ripple, and you better enjoy after all the trouble I went through."

"After what y—_excuse _me? Who got his head cut open, again?"

"That was your own fault for being an idiot. Who turns their back on a hostage?"

"You had hostages?" Abigail asked. He couldn't make out her expression, but her voice sounded interested and not the least bit alarmed. "What were you up to this time, Jackie?"

"Nothing much. Stealing food, making out in front of security cameras, testing poisons, that sort of thing."

"Sounds fun."

"It was."

"All right, I've got everything." Adrian's voice, unless there was another man in the apartment he hadn't seen yet. Something else was placed on the table, and then a light was shining in his eyes, bright and painful. "Don't blink," he was instructed as his eyes narrowed, "let me see." Another moment, and the light was gone. "Do you know where you are, Jonathan?"

He tried shrugged, then realized it didn't work with the Joker's hands on his shoulders. "An apartment, somewhere in the Narrows. I wasn't paying attention on the drive over."

"Do you remember what you were doing before you got hurt?"

"Yes."

"How's your coordination? Do you think you could walk if you needed to, or do you feel too dizzy or tired?"

"I could walk." There was a hand on his wrist, suddenly, feeling his pulse. Startled, he tried pulling back, only to feel the grip tighten.

"It's all right." The hand was gone. "There aren't any signs of severe blood loss or a concussion."

"Where would you get blood," he asked, unsure he wanted to know the answer, "if there was?"

"We're all type O," Abigail said.

"Universal donor," Adrian explained. Jonathan had already known that, but the idea of the three draining each other's blood to treat patients made him shudder.

"Here, Jonathan." Another voice, a loud one. Anika. He felt his glasses being pressed against his hands and put them on, the room snapping into focus. Any previous conceptions about being treated in a filthy, badly-constructed shack went out of his head at once. Despite the apartment's outward appearance, the inside was not only clean, but suggestive of wealth. Looking over the doctor and women—who he assumed were Adrian's sisters, given the resemblance and blood type—the idea was enforced. Their clothes seemed to be custom, fitting them perfectly.

Anika was still smiling down at him. "Do you need anything else?"

He shook his aching head as he tried to puzzle out this latest conundrum. If they were wealthy, why run an illegal operation to begin with? Anika turned to walk away, crashing to the ground a moment later. He looked down to see her sprawled on the floor, the Joker's foot sticking out from the side of Jonathan's chair. She stared up at the clown. "You tripped me."

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Why not?" He held out his hand, one of the cookies in it, and to Jonathan's ever growing confusion, she took it without question or anger, getting back to her feet and walking to another chair, without a word, biting into the cookie.

_The hell?_ This made no sense, no sense at all. Why were these people allowing a psychopath into their home? They had money, clearly, they didn't need to be doing this, and if they'd been threatened into it, Joker was showing none of his usual malice. The most he'd done was trip the girl, and she didn't even seem to care. They weren't just tolerating him either, they were being friendly. _Why?_ "How do you know the Joker?" he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Long story," Adrian said, threading a needle with surgical twine.

"I've got nowhere to go."

"I'll tell it," Abigail said, straightening. "It all began the night the Scarecrow's fear gas was unleashed on the city. Where you there then? You know what I'm talking about?"

Joker snorted. "Of course he does. This _is _the Scarecrow."

There was a pause, all three siblings turning to stare at Jonathan. He was starting to become extremely unnerved by the silence, when the sisters jumped up, running toward his chair. He ducked, raising his arms to protect himself, which did nothing to prevent the girls from hugging him. Even more unnerving. "Er…what—"

"Thank you so much!"

"You're responsible for the best day of our lives."

"None of it could have happened without you!"

"Uh…okay?"

"You're scaring him," Adrian said, standing. "Besides, you're in my way. I can't stitch him with you there."

"Sorry." They let go, heading back to their chairs.

_What the fuck?_

"Anyway," Abigail continued, as if she hadn't been a part of the disruption to begin with. "Anika and I were here when the poison was released, but we weren't hit with the full force of it, because we were smart enough to realize that when steam or whatever it was starting pouring out of all the taps, we should probably get anyway from it. We were holed up in the living room with the doors closed and towels plugging up the cracks, so we weren't badly affected by the stuff."

"This," said Adrian, from behind Jonathan, "is going to sting. Sorry." He felt the needle push into his skin and winced.

"Ow."

"We've got vodka," said Anika, "if you need a drink."

"I don't drink."

"Do you want some hot chocolate or anything?"

"No thanks."

"The point is, we weren't affected, but everyone around us was. So this guy stumbles into our apartment, tripping on your toxin—"

"He broke down the door. Completely shattered it."

"I'm telling the story, Ani! Anyway, he managed to break his way into the living room, and at that time we were poor, and only had one gun, which was with Adrian at the time, and Adrian wasn't in. So this psychopath grabbed hold of Anika and started slamming her head into a wall, right?" Abigail pointed through to the next room, a spot on the wall that looked perfectly unharmed to Jonathan. "Well, you can't see it now, but there used to be a huge dent there. We had it fixed. So I ran into the dining room to get a chair, you know, to hit him over the head with, and I guess I breathed in a little too much of your drug on the trip because I got a little overenthusiastic when I hit him."

"She bashed his brains out," Anika added. "It took us like a week to clean it all out of the carpet."

"I did what had to be done. So Anika fell over, unconscious with blood pouring out of her ears—"

"Never fully healed." Anika pointed to the hearing aids, every bit as stoic as she'd been when the Joker tripped her. Somehow, Jonathan realized, that was worse than if she'd been emotional.

"This was the best day of your life how?" he asked.

"I'm getting to that. Jackie, do you want to tell the next part? Seeing as how I wasn't there?"

"Thought you'd never ask. See, I'd been running around the Narrows that night wreaking havoc, as usual, but on this particular night more people were inclined to, uh, fight back, thanks to your toxin, Jonny. Through a series of events that I'd rather not discuss, I found myself lying on the sidewalk, stabbed and bleeding out. And all of a sudden, Adrian was standing over me, and said—tell him what you said, Adrian, it was priceless."

"Sir, you appear to be injured," Adrian said, deadpan, still stitching. "Are you in need of assistance?"

"Right. Like I said, priceless. And I was lying there, thinking 'Well, thanks, Captain Obvious,' and wondering if it was worth the effort to pull out my gun and blow off this idiot's head. The only reason I didn't is because the next thing he said was that he would save me if I paid him—some ludicrous amount, I can't even remember it anymore. But it was insane. We're talking really obscene here. Well, uh, such avarice amidst such panic and destruction seemed interesting enough to me to save his life."

"And it happened that he was carrying that ludicrous amount, so I saved his," Adrian explained, tugging on the thread. Jonathan winced again.

"So I stopped the bleeding as best I could there and brought him back to the apartment to find Anika half dead on the floor and Abigail sewing, and—"

"Sewing?" Jonathan repeated.

Abigail nodded. "I'd got the bleeding stopped, but I'm not doctor, so I figured she was better off without my help. I'd been making a skirt before all the madness started, so I went back to that. Anyway, Jackie got stitched up, and then Adrian went to help Anika, and Jackie snuck up behind me, watched for a few minutes, and said, 'Hey girlie, I want you to make suit for me.'"

_So that's where it came from._ "Wait, you agreed to make an outfit for some stranger you hadn't known for five minutes?"

"Not at first, of course not." She wrinkled her nose as if the idea was somehow more ridiculous than any of the other mad things she'd said so far. "I mean, I didn't know this guy, and I don't make things for strangers. Besides, fabric is expensive, if you want it to look good, and I had no idea if this guy'd actually pay for it. So I said, 'Hell no,' and the next thing I know, Jackie's hands were around my throat and I was against the wall, and he said—"

"It wasn't a request, you little bitch," Joker supplied.

"Right." Her smile was as genuine as ever. _What in God's name is wrong with these people?_ "Anyway, Adrian had his gun out by this point, but instead of firing, he said that I would make it, but it was going to cost an obscene amount again. And Jackie said okay and let me down, so Adrian put the gun away. And that was the beginning of this beautiful friendship."

"So that's the reason the apartment looks so nice?"

"Yeah."

"And you weren't at all concerned when the man you made a suit for showed up on the news torturing people?"

"Wasn't happening to us," Anika said, shrugging.

"And he gave us money," Abigail added.

"And back alley doctors are accustomed to deal with criminals in the first place."

True. But the Joker was his own class of criminal entirely. If there was ever a living, breathing definition of the word 'amoral,' he imagined it would be this family.

"Aren't they fantastic?" Joker asked, as if reading his mind. "The true neutral to my chaotic evil. It balances things out."

Jonathan stared. "The what?"

"Character alignments. He plays Dungeons and Dragons with us sometimes," Anika explained.

Jonathan tried to picture that and realized he did not want to picture it. The day he envisioned the Joker fighting off a horde of orcs would be the day his mind broke. Or broke the rest of the way, anyway.

"Done," Adrian said, and Jonathan heard the click of scissors behind his head.

"Fantastic." Joker reached into his coat and pulled out a stack of money, placing it on the table. "I think that should cover it."

"Indeed."

"Well then," and his hands were on Jonathan, pulling him up, "we should be off."

"Already?" the girls spoke together, pouting.

"Do you have to?"

"We were just about to play Monopoly. Sure you don't want to stay?"

"Tempting, but no. Thanks for the offer."

To Jonathan's wonder, they actually hugged the clown goodbye.

* * *

"How do you do that?" he asked, as they were driving back.

"Do what?"

"You seem to have a talent for attracting people messed up enough to find no fault with your actions, or even go along with them. And it seems to take no effort on your part. It's as if you're the Pied Piper of Madness or something ridiculous."

He laughed. "I like that. I dunno, I guess I just have good people skills."

"It's still incredible. Almost as incredible as the fact that you have what could be considered friends."

"What's so surprising about that? I'm charismatic."

"You're also homicidal. I find it strange that you haven't killed them yet."

"What, you wanna do it?" Joker asked, decelerating. "We can turn around now, if you wanna test the laughing gas on them."

"No! God." He supposed it was only to be expected. The Joker didn't have friends, not really. He might be in fear for his own life if he didn't know that the Joker found him entertaining. Actually, that only alleviated the fear a bit. "Tell me, do you value life at all? Besides Batman's and your own?"

He licked his lips. "Not really. Other people don't count."

"Don't count?" Jonathan repeated. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning we're the only two that _matter._ The only, uh, 'real' people, so to speak. Everyone else is so boring in comparison, there may as well not be a world without us."

"Boring? I thought you found me entertaining?"

"Well, yeah, but not on the same level as Bats. See Jonny, when it comes down to it, most people's minds are like ribbons. A boring straight line. Sure, you can get it all knotted up and twisted, maybe even ripped, but in the end it can be untangled. Look long enough and you can see everyone's problem and exactly how to fix it, but they never listen when you tell 'em."

"Everyone?" Grandiose sense of self worth, yet another sign that the man was a sociopath.

"Take yourself, for example. It's not hard to see that your whole deal is a mix of fear of people and rejection, and uh, need for attention. That, and a desire to treat others the way you've been treated."

"I don't have a need for attention!"

"Like hell you don't. I've seen your files. Your mother never gave you any, so you're obsessed with being important. That's why you invented the Scarecrow persona, to lord over your experiments, to _make _'em remember you. Tell me, why'd you need a Scarecrow mask? What, a normal gas mask wouldn't have worked? No, it wasn't dramatic enough, and it didn't have that sweet little irony of using the thing the other kids made fun of you for looking like, right?"

He sighed. "Do not try to psychoanalyze me. You're not good at it."

"If I wasn't good at it, you wouldn't be so defensive."

"What's your mind then, if everyone else's is the oh so predictable ribbon?"

"It's a Moebius strip."

"So it can't be untangled, then?"

"Yeah."

A fitting metaphor, Jonathan supposed.

* * *

He sucked the last bit of fudge ripple from his spoon, refusing to admit to himself that it tasted good. Very good. Beside him sat the Joker with his own bowl, flipping through the stations. "Hey, look!"

He felt the clown's elbow collide with his ribs, and turned to regard the television. The station was GCN, and the image on screen was currently a grainy still taking from the store's security cameras. It was of the pair locking lips. "Christ." He could feel his face burning at once. Joker wouldn't care, he knew, Joker would be thought of as frightening no matter what, but there went any respect he'd have managed to gain, right out the window. It was too much. He leaned against the pillows and felt himself give up, sink into himself. Let someone else deal with the world right now, he'd had enough crap for the day.

Joker's was over his. "Great, isn't it? Let's see the Batman ignore this." It didn't seem worth responding to, but he noticed the faint glimmer of ice cream on the man's lips and leaned forward, licking it off, running his tongue over one scar, then across the other, before coming back to the middle. There he worked his tongue into the Joker's mouth, taking his friend by the head and slowly moving him closer, so the kiss could be deeper, more passionate. God knew he could do with some compassion right now, but since that was unlikely coming from the Joker, passion would have to substitute. Besides, it was hot.

"Whoa." Joker's eyes widened when they pulled back for air. "Not that I'm complaining, Jonny, but what brought _that _about?"

He smirked. So Mr. I-Know-Everything-About-Everyone-Forever couldn't tell the difference between them. It was fine, he didn't mind surprising him. "Dr. Crane isn't here right now. But if you'd like to make an appointment?"

He watched those still-wide eyes light up with comprehension. It was amusing. "Scarecrow?"

More than amusing. He couldn't help but giggle as he raised one hand and gave a small wave. "Hi." Oh, this was going to be so much fun.


	25. Manipulation

AN: The line "In here. With me." is my playing with the "In here. With us." line from _The Exorcist. _I see Jonathan/Scarecrow as being a huge fan of horror movies, and while Jonathan's too dignified to make references when he speaks, Scarecrow doesn't care.

In regards to this chapter…I don't know where it came from. I really don't know. But I am deeply sorry.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

Oh, how he loved the look on Joker's face. It wasn't quite apprehensive, and although fear would have been delicious on the man, Scarecrow had to admit that was aiming a little high. Frightening the Joker would take far more than switching control. No, it was just a little guarded, and still a bit confused.

"So you're the Scarecrow." He drew the word out, exhaling after the last syllable with a slight smack of his lips. God, he loved how the clown said it. If he'd known Joker could make simple words this interesting, he'd have come out a lot sooner.

Scarecrow wasn't willing, however, to let the Joker see how much of an effect he was having, not so early on, so he only shrugged, still grinning. "That's my name. Don't wear it out." The clown raised an eyebrow and Scarecrow put a hand over his mouth to keep from giggling. It wasn't as if Jonathan didn't talk back, but he was never so juvenile about it. He could only imagine how wonderfully dissonant they must seem to Joker.

"You know, Jonathan doesn't think we'll get along."

"Is that so?" He sat up, closing the space between them and pressing his mouth against the Joker's. Arms wrapping around the man's body, he parted his lips and slipped his tongue into his partner's mouth, the clown doing the same to him after a moment. They stayed that way for several minutes, exploring each other, before Scarecrow pulled back slowly, gently biting Joker's lips before moving his kisses to the corner of Joker's mouth, down across his painted face to the jaw line, and then the neck, still biting softly. The shiver through the clown was fantastic to see, both amusing and attractive. "Jonathan," he whispered against the Joker's neck, "worries too much."

To his surprise and disappointment, the Joker's hands were on his shoulders, suddenly, gently but firmly moving him away. He frowned, feeling only slightly reassured when he saw that the Joker's expression was still one of curiosity, not rejection. "Where is Jonathan now?"

"In here. With me." He tapped a finger against his temple.

"Is he, uh, aware of what's going on?"

"Yes. We're always aware of each other." Scarecrow paused, considering his other half. "At the moment, he's mentally biting his nails and thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. At the same time, though, he wants to see what will happen next."

Joker seemed to consider it. "So what exactly are you, if you're not a separate personality?"

He forced himself to keep his expression calm, starting to burn with disappointment as he remembered the man's words from that tape of Jonathan drunk: "I don't wanna take advantage." If he decided messing around with the Scarecrow would be taking advantage of Jonathan, there went all the fun. "An alter ego, of sorts. I'm everything Jonathan wishes he could be."

Joker tilted his head. He liked that. It was a reminder that the clown felt confusion, that under the paint and façade he was as human as anyone. And it was damn cute. "How's that?"

"I am confident, fearless, beautiful." He paused, trailing his tongue over his lips quickly, the way the Joker so often did. "I do what I want and say what I want because I'm not afraid of the consequences. And I get what I want, because I don't hesitate to take it. I have all the fun of scaring people without the stupid research getting in the way."

"Ah." His curious look had been replaced with a smirk while Scarecrow was speaking. "So, in other words, he wishes he could be me?"

Scarecrow giggled. "Please. Don't flatter yourself, I don't wear makeup."

"You oughta try it. You look enough like a girl anyway."

Jonathan felt a faint flash of annoyance, which Scarecrow shrugged off, making himself blush in what he hoped was an appealing manner. There was no use in getting angry over a petty taunt, not when there was so much to be gained from the situation. There was no point in skirting the obvious, the way Jonathan loved to. Joker wanted him, and if he could just help the man over the barrier of performing carnal behaviors with his mentally unstable lover, there were so many ways that could be exploited.

The only question was how to go about it. Come on too strongly, and the Joker was likely to reject him on the grounds that Jonathan couldn't want this. Too slowly, and he'd risk losing the moment. As it turned out, Joker solved the issue for him.

"So, you're not inhibited in what you say?"

"Not at all." Scarecrow wondered if it'd be coming on too strongly to lick his lips again. Probably, yes. He settled for glancing up at the Joker through his eyelashes. God knew his eyes were striking enough already, and given that the Joker was taller, even when they were sitting, it wasn't that unbelievable a gesture. "Why?"

"'Cause I'm wondering; what does Jonny think of me?"

"He thinks you're an asshole," Scarecrow said brightly. "That you're an evil, manipulative bastard who's completely unstable and deadset on ruining the lives of everyone close to him."

"Ah. How nice of him."

"But he thinks you're beautiful. Like an angel." He watched the Joker's surprised expression, and went on, suppressing a smirk. "And he loves it when you're nice to him, even though he thinks it's confusing as all get out. He loves how special you make him feel, even though he's afraid it's just an act. And…" Scarecrow hesitated for a moment, wanting to make it seem hard to say. If Jonathan was so shy about it even his fearless alter ego had trouble saying it…well, that would just make him adorably vulnerable, wouldn't it? "He's also in love with you, even though he won't admit it to himself."

Joker looked like a little boy who'd just opened up a fantastic Christmas present. "I think I like you."

* * *

**AN: There is more to this chapter**, though it's not necessary to read the rest to follow the plot, and I've chosen not to post it on Fanfiction due to the sexual content. There's nothing hardcore or highly graphic, but since the guidelines for M fics on site are vague (non-explicit adult themes, and I'm not sure what they consider explicit), I've chosen not to post it here, because it's not worth having the story deleted if someone objects. If you'd like to read the rest of the chapter, it's available here on my livejournal (be advised, it contains masturbation and oral sex): lauralot. livejournal. com/ 7635. html?#cutid2

If you prefer not to read the scene, then you can still proceed to the next chapter without losing a greater sense of the plot. All you need to know is that a sexual encounter took place.


	26. Shame

AN: The doll thing in this chapter is based on what I plan to do if I ever find a pattern to make the clothes. It will be awesome, if it works out.

To answer Laura's question, the violence/death/poisoning bits are going to start right back up again in the next chapter. Sorry to draw it out like this!

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! You guys are wonderful.

* * *

He woke up in the still-sleeping Joker's arms, and for one blessed moment was content just to lie there, happy in the other's nearness. Then the memories from the previous night came flooding back and he nearly leapt from the bed, face burning as he made his way toward the bathroom. Ignoring the ache in his jaw was about as impossible as overlooking the stain he'd noticed in his pants as he stripped, but he tried his hardest to wash the memory away in one long, burning shower. It didn't take, not then, and not after brushing his teeth about seven times either.

Scarecrow would have liked nothing better than to head back into the bedroom and tear the clown's throat out. Jonathan at least had a sense of self-preservation, and luckily for both of them, he was the one in control. Not that that stopped the debate raging in his head. _That son of a bitch. Who the hell thinks he can fuck with me that way and get away with it?_

_Funny, I thought fucking with you was exactly what you wanted._

_Oh, don't act like you're above it all. You wanted it every bit as bad as I did, and worse, because at least I had a motive._

_If by 'motive' you mean a pathetic excuse to get off, then yes. If you'd listened to a damn thing I'd said in the first place, you'd have known the Joker can't be toyed with that way. Sex is as much a game to him as everything else, it has no meaning._

_Well, thank you, Doctor. Next time I find myself in such a situation, you might want to bring that up beforehand._

_I did, idiot._

They carried on like that for some time, before Jonathan got hungry and decided to placate his alter ego with toast. He was halfway through the first piece when he felt the Joker's hands around his waist. "Hello, beautiful."

Even the taste of cinnamony-sugar goodness wasn't enough to keep Scarecrow from jerking away. Jonathan, not in the best of moods himself and sensing there may well be a fight soon, decided to intervene. "Could you not touch me right now? Or talk to me, for that matter?"

"Aw, what are you all frowny about?" Joker asked, sitting beside him.

He averted his eyes, overcome with both the urge to throw things and hide under the table. "Nothing."

"Is this about last night? 'Cause you said it was what you wanted, kitten. I guess you could argue that doesn't really count, given that you're crazy and all, but last I checked I can't really consent either, being uh, legally insane and whatnot." He paused. "Hey, does that make last night a mutual rape or something?"

"It makes you a son of a bitch."

He blinked. "Scarecrow?"

"No shit. That was a nasty little trick of yours, bastard. You almost gave Jonathan a heart attack."

Joker smirked. "Right, I'm sure it's your concern for him that's got you so pissed. What, you don't want your better half in on the action too?"

"That's not the point. And he could feel it before you did that."

"Wait, doesn't that mean you could still feel it after he took over?"

"Yes, he could." Jonathan looked away again, flushed as ever. "It's not the same for him when he's not in a position of authority, though."

"Welcome back." He reached out, stroking Jonathan's hair. If he noticed the way the other pulled away, he didn't acknowledge it. "You oughta tell him that I don't let anyone else take charge."

"I tried," he said, eyes fastened to the floor as if his life depended on staring there.

"I get why he's upset, I guess, but what's your problem? Didn't you enjoy it?"

"Yes. Just…" he trailed off. How was he supposed to explain it, that the very act of giving into his physical nature seemed wrong, somehow? Like he had cheapened himself. How could he describe that to someone so in touch with his animalistic side, someone both ruled by and yet in complete control of those impulses at once?

"Just?" Joker prompted. "What?"

"Just that he's most likely angry at how rudely you brought him out, idiot."

He frowned. "You're back? Can I talk to the one that isn't completely irrational?"

"Fuck you." Stupid Joker and his seeming inability to be affected by anything. Most people would be unnerved that their conversation partner kept changing from one persona to another, or thrown off a bit at least. But no, the clown was as unperturbed by this as he'd been by last night's events. Bastard. He was going to find a way under his skin, and when he did, revenge would be sweet.

"I'm beginning to see why Jonathan thought we wouldn't get along."

"Took you long enough."

"Hey, you seemed friendly enough last night. Really, if there was one thing I wasn't expecting, it'd be that Jonathan's alter ego is a cheap slut."

"Please don't provoke him," Jonathan muttered, hands clenched tightly on the armrests of his chair. If Scarecrow got much angrier, he doubted he could hold him back, and he did not want to see what the consequences would be at all. "He's mad enough as it is."

"You know, Jonny, you've gotta stop switching back and forth like this. It's confusing."

"I'm not doing it on purpose!" he protested, trying very hard to ignore the rather appealing part of his mind screaming that it would show Joker what happened to those that called him a slut. All right, so trying to take on the clown was asking to die, but the thing Scarecrow was suggesting they try with an electric mixer sounded very interesting indeed. "It just…happens. Especially when he's as angry as this."

"Well, let's try and make it not happen." He took Jonathan's hand in his own, refusing to let go even as the other pulled away. "Okay? I know he doesn't like being upstaged, but what's got _you _so unhappy?"

"I don't know." And doubted he'd be able to verbalize it if he did.

"See, normal people don't flip out and be afraid to look at their partners the morning after. I know you're not exactly normal, but still. You weren't bad, if that's what you're concerned about."

"It's not that. I'm not concerned about the quality…more the fact that it happened at all?" Oh, lovely. That didn't make him sound like a panicked virginal idiot, not in the slightest. He had the nagging idea that Joker was going to get sick of his neuroses and find a new sidekick who put out. Maybe the only thing keeping him around was that the laughing gas had yet to be perfected. Wonderful.

"That it happened at—oh, I get it," Joker said, much to Jonathan's surprise. "It's a control thing, isn't it? The fact that you did something so basic, so _human_. You wanted it then but looking back you're disgusted with yourself for sinking so low?"

He nodded, still afraid to look up, worried he'd see the Joker's eyes scrutinizing him, comparing him to Harley, who Jonathan was sure never panicked over something so trivial.

"Okay." His other hand was stroking Jonathan's hair again. "Look, sexual behavior isn't something inherently shameful, Jonny. Not if it has meaning. It's not like we just met and hooked up, and even if we had, that's not, uh, necessarily a bad thing either. It's an expression of affection. You like me, and I like you, and last night was a way of showing that."

"I know. But the manner in which it was shown was so—"

"Physical?" He sounded amused. "Hate to break it to you, kitten, but you are human. You're not above the desires and conflicts everyone else on the planet goes through, much as you'd like to be. If you're gonna beat yourself up for giving into desire, you should also be mad at yourself for eating and breathing."

"It's not exactly the same."

"Close enough. Try not to be so serious, all right?"

Jonathan turned to face him, smiling, albeit it slightly, nervously. "You know, for someone with no sense of shame, you're rather insightful."

He shrugged. "People aren't hard to figure out. The ribbon thing, remember?"

"Oh yes, the delightful little analogy where you said I don't matter."

"Not that you _don't _matter. You matter more than some bum on the street, but you don't matter as _much_, understand? No hard feelings about that, right?"

"No, no hard feelings at all," Scarecrow said, taking hold of his plate and smashing it over the Joker's head.

Joker blinked a few times, before turning to regard the broken pieces of china littering the table beside him.

"Oh my God," Jonathan managed, heart skipping a few beats. _Hell. I'm dead. I'm so dead._ "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—that is—it was—"

"No, it's fine, I get it." His hand closed around the blunt end of the largest piece of the plate, holding it up, admiring the way the light glinted off the jagged edges. "Hey, can I talk to Scarecrow again? Just for a minute."

_Fuck. _"I-I don't think he's coming back out again. Not anytime soon."

"Figures." Joker's tongue pushed against the scars on the inside as he seemed to consider something. The seconds ticked by, slow and tense, and just when he was beginning to think he might not be brutally murdered, the Joker had hold of his hair, dragging him forward. "If I leave a message with you, he'll get it, right?"

* * *

"So this happened how, exactly?" Adrian asked, stitching the gash across Jonathan's forehead.

How was he supposed to answer that? _My alter ego was idiotic enough to provoke the Joker so he cut me open. _Yeah, that was sure to lead to a good conversation. "I walked into a door."

"'Door' meaning Jackie, right?" Anika asked, turning to regard the clown sitting at the other end of the table.

"Yep," he said, sounding almost smug, hands laced behind his head.

"Why on his face?" Abigail asked. "Are you trying to ruin his looks?"

"Because head wounds bleed a hell of a lot, and there's nothing like showing someone his own blood when I'm trying to make a point. Besides, scars done right add to appearance, not detract." His tongue flicked out at the corners of his mouth.

"This won't leave a scar," Adrian informed him, "as long as you leave it alone while it's healing."

"Aw. I wanted a permanent reminder."

"I'll remember it well enough anyway, thank you." Jonathan winced as the needle pushed through again, the burning from the stitches nearly as bad as the pain from the injury itself. What remained of his nails was beginning to dig into his palms when he felt something being pressed against his hand.

"Here, grab onto this," Abigail said, putting what felt like a ragdoll into his hand. "That way you're not tearing yourself up any worse."

He held it up and felt his jaw drop open. "The hell?" Just when he was beginning to think nothing could disturb him anymore, he found himself staring at a Joker doll, complete with green yarn hair. "Where did you—"

"I made it. It wasn't that hard, I just used a Raggedy Ann pattern and gave it different clothes."

"I painted the face," Anika added. "Cool, huh?"

He regarded it. The white paint spread over the cloth made an unnerving likeness, showing the skin color beneath it at points and mixing haphazardly with the black. What intrigued him the most, however, were the scars, stitched in with red thread so that they actually stood out against the rest of the face. "Amazing."

"It is one of the better likenesses of me."

He regarded the Joker over Adrian's shoulder. "I thought you hated it when people make images of you."

"Usually, yes. However, they're usually being used to profit off of me, and we have a strict, uh, agreement that this never leaves the apartment or they die."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"We've got a Batman doll, too," Abigail said. "That one was probably the hardest, because there's so few clear pictures of him. And a Riddler, a Poison Ivy, a Mad Hatter, most of the super villains, actually."

"Is there a Scarecrow?" he asked, apprehensive. It wasn't every day one was came face to face with himself in soft, cottony form, and he wasn't sure he was feeling up to it. Maybe when he wasn't bleeding from the head, but not now.

"Not yet. We're working on one now."

"We don't like to make them if we can't do the face under the mask," Anika explained. "Batman being the exception, because no one knows who he is, and you can't have the villains without Batman. Usually, we go by mug shots, but in yours your face is all cut up and bloody, and there aren't any good pictures of you online. Now that we've seen you in person, though, we can go ahead. We've already got buttons in just the right shade of blue to do your eyes."

He was both flattered and unnerved. "You do know you're making an homage to the man who effectively caused your deafness, right?"

She shrugged. "I'm not completely deaf. Just fifty percent. Less with the hearing aids. And anyway, if it weren't for you we wouldn't have met Jackie, and if it weren't for Jackie we'd probably be on the streets by now. So it's all good."

"You've no moral compass at all, have you?"

"Life's more interesting without it," Abigail said, reentering the room. Jonathan started, not having realized she'd left in the first place.

"My sentiments exactly," said the Joker, stretching out his legs.

"Here, let me see your hand," Abigail instructed, taking Jonathan's hand and placing it on the table. He heard the sound of paper ripping and tried to look down, only to have Adrian force his head back up.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting Band-Aids on your fingers." She held one up, briefly, before lowering it again. He felt the adhesive against his skin.

"Did that have the _Power Rangers _on it?" he asked, feeling more and more like he'd slipped into _The Twilight Zone. _All that was left was for Rod Serling to show up.

"Yeah. Band-Aids with stuff on them are so much more interesting then the plain kind, don't you think?"

"We've also got ones made to look like bacon," Adrian offered, clipping the twine. Jonathan glanced down to see the first three fingertips of his left hand covered, with Abigail working on the fourth.

"May I ask why you're doing that?"

"Because you bite your nails, don't you?" she asked. "That's what it looks like, anyway. You can't bite them like this." From his end of the table, the Joker collapsed into a laughing fit.

"_Beata Maria_," Jonathan muttered, which only made the clown laugh harder. He couldn't decide if the period since he'd team up with the Joker had been the best time of his life or the worst. Certainly it was the most interesting.


	27. Fairy Tales

AN: I meant to have this chapter up at a reasonable time for once, but ended up watching TDK with my family instead of writing. Best movie-watching quote ever, by the way:

My Dad: So…now Harvey turns evil and becomes Half-Face?

Me: [snerk] Er…you mean Two-Face, right?

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"A bank," Scarecrow said, looking through the windows of the van to their intended target. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I hear on the news that you nearly had your head blown off during your last bank heist? Overlooked a manager with a shotgun, somehow?"

"Right." The Joker pulled a long, lethal looking knife from somewhere inside his vest. "Precisely why I chose such a place again."

"Run that by me once more?" Scarecrow asked, reflexively tapping the canister of laughing gas attached to him by wrist strap. If the Joker was planning on fighting mobsters today, that hadn't been covered under their agreement. Technically, the agreement had been with Jonathan, not his psychotic boyfriend, but Jonathan really should have mentioned it. They'd agreed that Scarecrow would be the one to test the laughing gas—he'd even agreed to observe the effects, not just stand there giggling—if he stopped trying to kill or maim the Joker at each new opportunity. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; he was sick of not being allowed out and none too eager to be sliced up again, but looking back it felt like Jonathan was shoving him under the restraints he'd always been so free from. Scarecrow didn't follow rules, and much as he could appreciate the Joker's fondness for sheer chaos, his need for revenge had barely lessened.

"Because it's exciting, scaredy cat. At as long as you took developing this new formula, I need some excitement."

"You try making precise measurements with bandages on your fingertips." He glowered down at the bright pink Band-Aids—the _Power Rangers _ones had fallen off and since been replaced with _Hello Kitty_, that the Joker had had on hand, God only knew why. "Remind me again what your obsession is with the nail biting thing?"

"It's all about control. Jonny bites his nails when he's nervous, see, instead of actually freaking out. It's one of his many little methods to keep composure. I wanna break his composure, thus the more methods I destroy, the closer I get."

"You know he's just started biting the skin around his nails, right?"

Joker shrugged. "I'll find a way to deal with that. Look, there's the signal."

Scarecrow turned to see Knox standing at the bank's entrance, a sign that the henchman inside had subdued all the staff and patrons. He'd been surprised when the Joker had agreed to this method of attack; methodical poisoning didn't seem the man's style, he'd expected an argument in favor of a way promoting more panic and disorder. Then again, the Joker didn't really have a style. As long as it was horrific, he seemed willing to go along with it.

"I still don't know about this," he said, as they stepped out of the van, mask clutched in his hand. Jonathan had had to make a new mask, as well as the toxin, as the bloodstains proved permanent in the old one. Sewing with bandaged fingers was also impossible, and Scarecrow could have killed Joker for all the needle stabbings he'd endured. He had to admit, though, that the moment when Joker had taken hold of Jonathan's hands and kissed the injuries had been nice. At least until lipstick got into the cuts. "This place is enormous. How do we know there aren't people your men have missed, holed up and waiting to attack?"

"You worry too much." Joker patted him on the shoulder, and Scarecrow only barely resisted the urge to slap him. "The phone lines are cut, and so's the silent alarm. And it's not a mob bank, so you don't have to be scared about employees with shotguns."

"I'm _not _afraid," he said. "I'd just rather not be killed."

Joker rolled his eyes, ushered Scarecrow in before him, Knox locking the doors behind. "So a psychiatrist, a clown, and a black guy walk into a bank…" They waited, but it became apparent he wasn't going to continue.

"Everyone's in the lobby, boss, just like you wanted," Knox informed him, keeping his distance from the pair. Scarecrow, remembering from that news report the fates of the henchmen in the last robbery, couldn't blame him.

"Fantastic." Joker took in the hostages, cowering on the floor, hands bound behind them with plasticuffs. "It's like an all you can kill buffet."

Putting Jonathan's glasses in his pocket, Scarecrow pulled the mask over his head. "You know, for the 'Clown Prince of Crime,' you're not all that funny."

"That's just your opinion, scare—wait, the Clown what?" Joker turned from their captives to regard him, expression amused.

"Clown Prince of Crime," he repeated. "What, you haven't heard that? You can't go a day without listening to a news report on yourself, but you don't even listen to what they call you?"

"It's not what they say that I care about, so much that I'm there." He smacked his lips, pondering. "Clown Prince of Crime…that's beautiful. Clown Prince, Dark Knight, it's like a regular fairy tale."

He scoffed. "One of the original Grimm kind, I take it, and not Disney?"

"Don't be jealous. It's not my fault if the media can't come up with good nicknames for you. You can be the princess, if you want."

Scarecrow gritted his teeth. _Can I _please _test the laughing gas on him? He wouldn't mind, he likes laughing._

_No, _Jonathan said, firmly, from the back of his mind.

_Oh, come on. I won't even hit him full force. It'll barely hurt him._

_Absolutely not._

_Killjoy. _He sighed and went back to the conversation at hand. "Shouldn't Harley be the princess?"

"It's a polygamous kingdom. I can have as many princesses as I want."

"Of course." He knelt down before the nearest hostage, taking a moment to enjoy her tears and whimpering, then raised his wrist and blasted the toxin. The effect was almost immediate; a second or so after inhaling, she collapsed to the ground, the screams of the surrounding captives not enough to drown out her laughter. Her face stretched wide, though not wide enough to rip, and he watched, entertained, until her heart gave out a few minutes later and she went limp, light draining from her eyes. The smile didn't stay, regrettably. Well, maybe the subject had been an anomaly, and it would remain on others. Only one way to find out.

Research, he found, as he moved down the line, wasn't so bad. It was so tempting, so easy to start a massacre, moving from victim to victim without looking back, but the effects were every bit as entertaining, even the ones with unexpected results. Those…well, they weren't fun, exactly, but they were intriguing. Watching the subtle differences from subject to subject, he could see why Jonathan got so involved in this stage of the experiments. For all his talk on the impact on humanity and the importance of understanding fear, Scarecrow knew his motivations weren't so complex as to understand the emotion or so noble as to understand fear to remove it entirely. Really, his alter ego enjoyed it every bit as much as he did, and for the simple pleasure of terrifying others, nothing more.

"Hey, scaredy cat," Joker called, breaking him from his thoughts. "None of the dead ones are still smiling."

"I can see that," he said, standing over a victim whose face had ripped, though only slightly. He poked at the tattered flesh with the toe of his shoe, wondering what made this man's reaction more adverse than the others. Pity he'd never know; he doubted the Joker would let him drag corpses home for further study.

"What's that mean?"

"That we'll have to alter the compound again, obviously."

"More waiting?" He wasn't facing the Joker, but he could tell from the sulky tone in the clown's voice that he was pouting. "And I'll have nothing to do the whole time."

"No, nothing at all," he said, spraying another. "Just watching yourself on the news, planning your next attack, thinking of ways to get Batman's attention, harassing myself and your men, or any number of hobbies in you could take up. You're right, nothing to do. How perfectly dreadful."

"Leave the humor to me, friend. I'm better at it."

"Of course." They go on in silence for some time, Scarecrow poisoning and Joker laughing at the dying in their final moments, or holding conversations with the corpses. His men returned from the vaults carrying bags filled with money, and watched silence, either in awe or from terror. Maybe even detachment, given how many of them were insane and the rest possibly desensitized. Knox seemed to be entertained, at least as far as Scarecrow saw in the glance he shot him.

He reached the end of the line, waiting until the hostage stopped breathing before turning to Joker, who was currently holding an animate if one-sided conversation with the body of an elderly woman about where his scars had come from. This time the story seemed to involve a woodshop class project gone horribly awry. The ghost of a smile twitched on Scarecrow's face, beneath the burlap. Infuriating as the clown may be, he was amusing in a twisted, idiotic way. "Joker?"

"So then the table saw slips and—what, Scarecrow?"

"I'm through here."

"Ah." He straightened up, glancing down at the body. "Well, sorry to rush, but places to be, lives to destroy, that sort of thing." He turned away, walking off toward the men's room. "Go ahead and load up the van, men, I'll be right out—"

The thought of the Joker being slammed in the face with a metal trashcan by a patron who'd be hiding in the restroom, which the henchmen had apparently been too stupid to check, was highly amusing. Seeing it in execution, however, was not. Well, maybe for a moment, but when he fell to the floor, red running down his face that definitely wasn't lipstick, things became decidedly darker.

Later on he would assure himself that he was not acting out of concern; merely outrage that someone other than himself cause the Joker injury. At the moment, though, he moved without thinking, grabbing the nearest henchman and shoving him full force at the Joker's assailant, knocking them both to the floor. He closed the space between them so quickly he wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there, feet flying out into the man's ribs, feeling the crunch of bone over and over but not stopping. He was too enraged to even enjoy the screaming, and he kept on long after the body he was kicking had ceased to function, screaming and lashing out until he felt a hand on the collar of his shirt, dragging him away.

The mask was pulled off his face, and whatever idiot had done that was lucky not to be in his line of sight, or they'd be sucking laughing gas faster than they could say "I'm fucked."

"Jonathan. Breathe."

"Knox?"

"He's dead," Knox said, releasing Scarecrow. "Kicking him isn't helping the boss. You're the doctor here, see if he's okay."

Scarecrow nodded, and knelt beside the Joker, who laid unmoving, eyes closed. The blood on his face came from his nose, bloodied but not broken, at least, not as far as he could see. There was a lot of blood, mixing with the face paint to make the surrounding white a pale pink, but not enough to be worrisome, and it seemed the bleeding had stopped. "Joker?"

No response. Scarecrow frowned, trying to ignore the flutter of anxiety in his stomach. Had he passed out from pain? No, that was ridiculous, Joker took blows far worse than this all the time without so much as a whimper. Maybe he'd hit his head on the floor hard enough to faint, but he hadn't seemed to have fallen that hard. Gingerly he reached out, touching the Joker's shoulder. "Joker? Get up."

Still nothing. The anxiety was now impossible to ignore, and shifting into outright fear. "Joker!" What the hell had happened? What if the hit knocked something loose inside his brain, caused a concussion or skull fracture, and the clown would never regain consciousness? "Joker! Damn it, get up!"

A faint flutter of movement from the Joker's lips, a whisper of sound.

Scarecrow leaned closer. "What?"

"Kiss me." It was almost inaudible.

He stared, for a moment too stunned to be angry. "The hell?"

"Kiss me. Fairy tales, remember? Kissing heals all."

The moment was over. "You son of a bitch!" He slapped the Joker's face, blood and paint coming off on his hand. "I was worried sick, idiot! Why the hell would you do that?"

"I wanted to be sure you cared." He still hadn't opened his eyes, lying there like a dead thing, save for the movements of his mouth. "Jonny loves me, but you, I wasn't sure on. Now kiss me."

Scarecrow glared, feeling relief that the other wasn't seriously hurt and hating himself for feeling it. "Princesses don't do the kissing, stupid. They're the one the kissing saves."

Joker sighed, opening his eyes. He sat up slowly, until the two were eye to eye, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand. "I was _trying _to overcome gender stereotypes, this being the twenty-first century and all. But fine, if that's how you wanna play, then we'll do it like this."

"Like wha—" Scarecrow began, when suddenly he was on the floor, Joker lying on top of him, hands digging into his arms.

"Like this, princess." Their lips met, before the security cameras, corpses, henchmen, and all, and to Scarecrow's amazement and self-loathing, he wasn't too annoyed by it.

* * *

AN: Ever read _Peter Pan_? The scene where Wendy pretends to be dead until the boys build her a house was the inspiration for the ending bit.


	28. Off to See the Wizard

AN: To answer dewdiamond101's question, Murphy's Law states that whatever can go wrong will go wrong.

Next chapter will be straight back into the hack and slay goodness, I promise. This, however, refused to go away until I wrote it, so here it is. Speaking of things that refused to go away, my brain nagged me until I illustrated Joker's imaging Jonathan as a princess today. It's really rushed, there's no shading, inconsistent coloring, and totally lack of quality (look at the way I draw hands, or rather, don't draw them) but since I'm a sadist I put it online anyway, and should you choose to see it, just copy the following into your address bar and remove the spaces (be sure to have Brain Bleach on hand): http: // i158. photobucket. com/ albums/ t92/ Lauralot/ princess. jpg This is what happens when I have access to colored pencils, people.

Oh, and upon watching TDK again, I realized where my mental image of Knox came from. Remember Joker's first scar story? His henchman in that scene with the braids who smiles and nods after one of Joker's lines, that's Knox.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"You're bleeding again," Jonathan informed Joker, who sat up in the bed beside him, blood dripping from his nose. "What did you do, crash into the headboard in your sleep?"

"Possibly. Something that reopened it, anyway." To Jonathan's disgust, he licked off the blood rather than wiping it away.

"Is it painful?"

"Nah. I like how it feels."

Jonathan stared. "I'm sorry, you find pain to be pleasurable?" He'd always assumed that the Joker laughed at his injuries out of irreverence, not actual enjoyment.

"Yeah. What's wrong with that?"

He shook his head. "You really are crazy."

"Am _not._ Excuse me for being a little different." Joker turned his gaze away, his eyes seemingly focused on something far off, though he wasn't looking at anything in particular. "Look, I don't remember much of my life. Maybe there was a lot of pain in it. Maybe that's why I don't remember, because it hurts too much. Maybe the hurting got so bad I needed it to feel good to be able to survive. That doesn't make me crazy."

Jonathan moved closer to him, their lips meeting. He ignored the coppery taste in his mouth when he pulled back. "I'm sorry."

He waved a hand. "It's fine. And it could be that all that's a bunch of crap and my brain's just wired funny. Or I'm a masochist." He wiped away blood again, glancing down at his stained hand. "I'm gonna go take a bath. Wanna come?"

"No."

"Aw." He did wipe the blood away then, from the spots his tongue couldn't reach. "I thought you got over the water thing."

"I got over my dislike of rain, which is completely different. And anyway, I'm not saying no out of a phobia, I'm saying no because lying in a bath of our combined filth doesn't appeal to me."

"I'll find a way to make it appealing," Joker said, standing and stretching in the doorway like a cat. "Just you wait."

"Oh, be still my beating heart," he muttered, watching the clown disappear down the hall. As the minutes ticked by, he decided that whatever the clown was planning regarding baths, he wasn't going to enact it today. Bored, he picked up the remote from the end of the bed and switched on the television, flipping through the stations.

He wasn't looking for anything good, or anything at all, really. Just background noise for when he went back to work on the toxin. Besides, even if he found anything interesting, the Joker would just switch it to the news when he came back. No, he only needed something not too loud or obnoxious, and as soon as he found that, things would be good. Unfortunately, it being the week of Halloween, most of what he flipped through seemed likely to arouse anger. Stupid marathons of so-called "horror" films that were little more than gore effect showcases. That wasn't fear, it was idiotic. But it pandered to the masses, so that's what every station seemed to hold.

Until, that is, one made him flip back, the split second he'd seen catching his eye. Black and white, a woman dressed in '40s clothing—Simone Simon, or at least, that's what he thought the actress was named—sketching a panther. _I know this one_, he thought, all concerns about research and experimentation going out of his head as he sat, transfixed.

He hadn't moved half an hour later, when Joker returned to the room, drying off his hair, leaving green streaks of dye on the towels. "What are you watching?" he asked, sitting beside him.

"_Cat People_."

For a moment Joker stared from Jonathan to the screen, head tilted. Then abruptly broke into laughter.

"What?"

"Whaddya mean, what? _Cat People_, kitten, it's funny. Not to mention it sounds like a bad sci fi flick and you're watching it like it's _Citizen Kane._"

"It's fantastic," he said, mildly annoyed. "It's regarded as a classic horror film. It's about a woman—" he pointed to her character, "who's afraid that if she consummates her marriage, she'll turn into a cat."

"Jonny, that is possibly even dumber than the night-gaunt thing."

"I mean a big cat. Like a panther. It's not really about cats, anyway, so much as the fear of sexuality."

Joker snorted. "Now it's even more up your alley."

"Oh, shut up."

He stretched out on the bed, propped up on his elbows. "Tell me, you ever watch normal television? Like, stuff that people have actually heard of?"

"Yes."

"Such as?"

_Don't admit that you watch Buffy The Vampire Slayer, you'll never live it down_, he instructed himself, thinking it over. "Er…_The Twilight Zone_, _Alfred Hitchcock Presents_—"

"Anything not meant to be scary?"

He paused. That was harder. "_Jam_?"

"The hell's that?"

"Six episode British comedy show. I've got it on DVD. It's a sketch show."

"Like SNL?"

"Er…sort of. Only, more unsettling." He paused, thinking of how to explain it. "Dead baby comedy, you could say. In some cases, literally."

Joker raised an eyebrow. "Eh?"

"One of the skits was about a woman calling a plumber because her baby had died. She reasoned that since organs were essentially a series of tubes, the plumber ought to be able to fix it. He rewired the house's central heating through the corpse. The mother was happy."

"This is comedy? I mean, mainstream comedy, not things that only people like you and I watch?" he asked, sitting up.

"It was controversial. I think you'd enjoy it, though. They made a corpse play a saxophone in another skit by pumping on its chest."

"Yeah, that's entertaining. But you know what?" he stood, making his way to the shelf beside the television, covered in DVDs. "We're gonna watch something normal, for once."

"But I like this movie," Jonathan protested, uninterested in the movies the apartment's previous tenants had left behind. He wondered if the owners had been killed, or only scared off.

"Too bad. I'm not watching movies about asexual kittens, I've got enough of that as is. Hey!" He brightened. "Jonny, they've got _The Wizard of Oz_!"

"So?"

"So?" Joker repeated, incredulous. He spun around, shoving the DVD case in Jonathan's face. "So it's incredible! Not to mention the movie that inspired your namesake, scaredy cat."

"I didn't name myself after _that _scarecrow." Jonathan rolled his eyes, examined the case. "Aren't those shoes the wrong color?"

Joker glanced at the case, then back at his companion. "What?"

"Aren't they supposed to be silver?" He hadn't heard the story in a long, long time, but he was fairly certain on that.

"Only in the boo—wait, have you not seen the movie?" Joker asked, suddenly looking more serious than Jonathan had ever seen him.

"I haven't seen either."

"You haven't seen the movie," Joker repeated, as if it were a mortal sin.

"I grew up without a television."

"You haven't seen the movie."

"I don't particularly care to. It's not—"

"Blasphemer!" Joker had the remote from his hand before Jonathan even realized he was moving, flipping on the DVD player. "You have to see it!"

"I don't like kids' movies," Jonathan protested, only to have a hand thrown over his mouth.

"It's not a kids' movie, it's a classic. And it's scary." Off Jonathan's looked, he went on, "No, I mean it. Wait'll we get to the flying monkeys and just try and say it isn't horrifying."

"Flying _monkeys_?" he repeated, pushing the Joker's hand away. "That's about as frightening as—"

"Shut up, it's starting."

He sighed, resigning himself to an hour and a half or so's worth of torture. As the overture began, he recalled that the film was a musical and got the feeling the Joker would sing along to all the songs. Lovely.

* * *

"So, what didya think?"

Jonathan stared at the screen, blank now that the DVD had been ejected. "That was fantastic."

Joker giggled. He had sung along the whole movie, but somehow it hadn't detracted too much. "Told you so."

"Absolutely fantastic."

"And scary."

"I wouldn't say scary. Not to anyone over seven."

He snorted. "Right, so we're ignoring your little freak outs?"

"I didn't freak out!"

"When the witch threw fire at Scarecrow, you practically tore my hand off, you held it so tight," he said, eyes glittering. "And need I remind you of when they threatened to drown Toto? Your little asthma attack?"

"That wasn't panic, it was a coughing fit. Nothing to do with fear. I don't scare easily."

"This from the guy who couldn't sleep for a week because 'there's a big, vicious rat in my cell, nurse?'"

"I wasn't afraid of that thing," he said, blushing. "I thought it might be rabid. You didn't see it. You don't know."

"Right. The point is, it's a great film and now you've learned not to question my tastes, right?"

"Hardly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

It was Jonathan's turn to laugh. "You tried to get me to watch _Saw _last night."

"So?"

"So it's stupid. Nothing but blood and guts. Horror should be scary, not disgusting. If you were to throw up on the floor right now, I would be disgusted, but I wouldn't run off screaming. That's all movies like that are, the vomit of the horror genre."

"Okay, Mr. Getting-Way-Too-Caught-Up-In-Cheap-Entertainment, I don't watch it 'cause I find it scary. I watch it because other people's suffering makes me laugh."

"Why am I not surprised? Well, it's still stupid. It's desensitizing the next generation; making them think all they need to do to be scary is film some fake intestines hanging out. They're killing horror, just like those stupid vampire romance novels. Vampires suck blood, _human _blood, and kill, they don't become rock stars or sparkle in the light."

"Breathe, Jonny."

"Or Halloween itself."

"Come again?"

"Based in the Celtic holiday, Samhain. The Celts believed that on that day, the veil between the mortal and spirit worlds was thin enough for the dead to cross over, so they wore masks to blend in with the evil spirits, to protect themselves. Now it's become an excuse for the candy companies to do more business, and for people to slavishly recreate costumes from films instead of trying to strike fear. It's idiotic, and demeaning to history, and it's—"

Joker cut him off with a kiss. "Relax, kitten. If it bothers you that much, why not just take matters into your own hands?" He paused. "And mine, too."

Jonathan blinked. "How's that?"

"Make Halloween scary again. Do something dramatic, something _frightening._ Make 'em remember what the day's all about, hiding from the big bad monsters. You can make a new laughing gas by the end of the week, right? Halloween's when we'll make the attack."

He felt a smile spread across his face. "What are we attacking now?"

"Gotham General just reopened a few weeks ago. I don't think we can let them settle in too smoothly, do you?"

"I love you," he said, kissing the Joker's cheek, ignoring the bitter taste of the paint. "You're brilliant."

"Aren't I?"

"Self-centered idiot," Jonathan said, with absolutely no irritation. "Affection is supposed to be mutual."

"Sorry, you're right."

He waited. "Well?"

"I love me too."

* * *

AN: The rat thing comes from the _Sandman _comics. In one of Jonathan's appearances, he complains that he's too afraid of a rat in his cell to fall asleep and about how crazy things have gotten in Arkham lately, so the Sandman puts him to sleep, along with the rest of the hospital.

I'm actually an Anne Rice fan, but I don't think Jonathan would be. The constant sexing would turn him off, I imagine.

I didn't mean for this to turn into "huge advert for shows Lauralot watches" though that's kind of how it turned out. Never seen _Cat People_, but hearing about it, it seemed like Jonathan's kind of film, very subtle, leave it to the imagination horror, for the most part. _Jam _(clips of which are on Youtube) struck me as having the twisted sense of humor that would amuse sadists like Joker and Jonathan. Wonder what that says about me, for liking it, though sometimes even I'm not amused. My favorite sketch, "Casual Parents" is in my opinion, a brilliant show of deadpan, black humor, but to those who don't share that sense of humor, I'm sure it's insanely offensive (It's about parents who are absolutely unconcerned that their son's gone missing). "Woman in Trouble," my second favorite, is not offensive at all, just very bizarre for a sixteen second sketch.

I think a lot of comics have Scarecrow disliking _The Wizard of Oz_, but the way he quotes it in one of Tim Sales's comics, and a cover I once saw (or possibly a fanart) of Scarecrow with Batman, Batgirl, and Robin tied up and put in Tin Man, Dorothy, and Cowardly Lion costumes made me think he'd be a fan. Plus, both Scarecrows are concerned with being scary (at least at first) and that amused me.


	29. Halloween

AN: Happy New Year! *sings first two lines of Auld Lang Sine and quits because I can never remember the rest*

All right, so I lied. This chapter is actually the build up to the hack and slay bits. I wanted to have it all at once, but it would have been obscenely long, so I cut things off before they actually went to the hospital. But there will be blood, and lots of it, next time. Also possibly some more creepy sexiness. Because scarring people for life is fun.

Valuable lesson for today: I should not watch _Breakfast on Pluto _and try writing fanfiction about Jonathan Crane immediately after, as my mental image of Jonathan is Cillian Murphy. And now my current mental image of Cillian Murphy is a blond girl in a feather boa singing "How Much is That Doggy in the Window." This is not conducive to keeping Jonathan in character. At all. Though it is hilarious.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"Victory is mine," Jonathan announced, stepping into the kitchen. An aerosol of the latest toxin in hand, he waved it overhead like actors waved awards. "I am triumphant, I am brilliant, I—" He stopped, scanning the room and finding only Knox there, drinking coffee. "Where's the Joker?"

"Shopping."

"Shopping?" he repeated. _Why on Earth would he go shopping? Did he run out of makeup_? No, that couldn't be it. He'd had makeup yesterday, Jonathan knew that for a fact, as the Joker had taken advantage of his not paying attention due to experiments and tried to put the makeup on him. He'd gotten rather far into the process—Joker stroking his face was nothing new, and he blocked it out easily—before he'd tasted lipstick and put a stop to it. So makeup was out. What could he possibly be buying? For that matter, what was open at nine in the morning?

He imagined the Joker terrorizing a Wal*Mart and sighed.

"You were saying?" Knox asked.

"What? Oh, I finished the laughing gas."

"Good job. Look, don't take offense at this, all right, don't poison me or anything, but you look like death." He scooted his chair back a bit, as if that would somehow protect him from the toxin. "When did you last sleep?"

"Er…three days ago?"

"You know you can start hallucinating after four days, right?"

"So I'll sleep tonight," he said, sitting down. "It was irrelevant, as long as I finished the drug by today."

Knox shook his head, braids swaying slightly. "Is the reason you're so skinny because you don't take care of yourself at all?"

"I'm naturally thin. Why are you concerned, anyway?"

"There's a bet on it. Some say you're on speed, others that you're anorexic. Mine was that you forget things like eating when you're caught up in research."

"Gambling addict." He was somewhat annoyed. Being near-freakishly thin had caused him enough grief in life as it was. True, most of that had ended when he'd left high school, but he didn't like reminders.

"Hey, you try entertaining yourself when the Joker's between plans. There are only so many times I can play _Grand Theft Auto_ without going insane."

"You're not mad already? You willingly work for the Joker, that's hardly sane." He supposed he wasn't one to talk, but he was more than just a lackey. They were partners, or almost. Joker would never allow full equal standing, but he was about as close as it got. Which made him far happier than reasonable. Jonathan justified it by telling himself that he was only relieved because it made him less expendable, less likely to be used as a shield against police gunfire, and it got him more respect. Scarecrow put it less eloquently as 'I'm special and they're not. Ha.'

"You don't exactly quit working for the Joker. There's a limited number of ways out, and they all end in either jail or death."

"So you're trapped."

"You're not?" He looked as if he were trying not to smile. Annoying.

"Sir, I cannot be held against my will." All right, so there was the time with the dislocated shoulder, and the other time when he'd tried sneaking out through the bathroom, but those hardly counted. "If I wanted to leave, I'd be gone."

"Right." Knox's expression was completely deadpan, though Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that he was amused. Ridiculous, no one would toy with him that way, not when he was armed with deadly chemicals. Besides the Joker. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No. I don't like coffee."

"Still. The boss won't like it if you fall asleep in the middle of his plan."

"Oh, that won't happen. There'd be an adrenaline rush to prevent it."

"If you say so."

"All right, kids, clear the table."

Jonathan and Knox turned to watch Joker shove through the doorway, multiple shopping bags in one hand and an enormous plastic cup in the other, filled with blue liquid he was sucking up through a straw. His makeup was off, to Jonathan's surprise, and he was in ordinary clothes, though the shirt was a bright shade of purple. Jonathan wondered how he'd managed to hide the scars, before noticing the scarf around the clown's neck. That was probably it, then. "What are you drinking?" he asked, standing.

"Slushie. Want some?"

"God, no. That's straight sugar."

"Do you ever have any fun at all?" Joker asked, spreading the bags out on the table. Jonathan glanced at the brand name printed on the plastic, trying to guess from the company what could be inside, but he'd never heard of it.

"If by fun you mean engaging in activities that lead to malnutrition and early death, then no."

"Try it or I'll pour it down your throat," he said serenely, holding the cup out to Jonathan.

"Fine." He took it, drinking apprehensively, and nearly dropped the thing from the sudden shock of taste. "Christ, that's sweet. Agh."

"Ya know, for all your talk about my ill health," Joker said, taking it back, "normal people can handle sugar without flipping out."

"Whatever." He crossed his arms. "What did you buy?"

"Supplies. For the infiltration part of the mission."

"Infiltration?"

Joker drained the last of the slushie, wiping blue from his mouth before he went on. "You know, getting into the hospital without rousing suspicion?" He reached into the first bag, pulling about a gallon's worth of fake blood from it. "That's where this comes in. Thank God for Halloween."

Jonathan could feel a migraine coming on. That, or the lack of sleep was finally catching up. "So, your plan is to douse yourself in fake blood and go running into the ER?" _Well, we're screwed._

"Not me. You." He closed the space between them, hands on Jonathan's waist, and the next thing Jonathan knew he was sitting on the table, the Joker unloading bags around him. "And there's more than just fake blood."

"No one's going to fall for this. We'll get caught."

"Do you always have to be such a pessimist? Trust me, I know how to do makeup." His hand reemerged from the last bag, scissors in hand. "Here, lay down."

"What are you going to do with those?" he asked, leaning away from apprehension, only to have the clown grab hold of him, forcing him down.

"Whaddya think? Hope you don't like this shirt, Jonny." There was a flash of steel, and then he could hear the sound of fabric tearing, feel cold metal against his skin.

"Watch it! You're actually going to cut me!"

"It'll add to the realism." He smirked. "Stop struggling, then. If you don't wanna get hurt, hold still."

Holding still was the absolute last thing his body was telling him to do, but he willed himself not to run for his life. Unable to completely fight the flight urge, however, he switched to reasoning his way out. "The doctors you're trying to fool are trained professionals. "They'll be able to tell this isn't real."

"If you're brought in with a massive chest wound and major blood loss, they're not gonna look too closely at first. The main concern will be getting you to a place where they can stop the bleeding and do transfusions. By the time they figure out what's going on, you'll be able to take them all out. And from there, we'll go on to the rest of the building. Trust me, kitten, it'll be fine."

He held in a sigh, heard a lid being unscrewed, a bitter smell in the air and a cold sensation against his skin. He tried not to put away. "What is that?"

"Liquid latex. To make ripped skin. Stop moving." He swatted a hand against Jonathan's face, gently.

"I can't help it. It tickles."

"Too bad. Suck it up or I'll cut you."

This time he was unable to keep from sighing, though he forced the rest of his body into immobility until the Joker was through. He was just beginning to relax when he heard the very unsettling 'hand me the knife, Knox."

"The what?" he demanded, bolting upright. "What the hell do you need a knife for?"

"Relax, Jonny." The Joker's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back down. "I'm only using the blunt end."

Not at all reassured, he nearly jumped again when he felt the metal. "Why do you have to use a knife?"

"Because it's more fun this way. Let's see, I wanna big cut here, one over there, and let's do one here. Yeah, that's nice. Right, give me the purple makeup."

Jonathan lay there for what seemed like hours, trying to ignore the sensation of sponges and other objects being dragged over his skin. The moment where Joker had poured bits of gravel on him—apparently, hit by a car was their story, if anyone asked—was especially irritating. He was just beginning to drift off when the Joker poured fake blood, lots of it and all of it freezing, on top of him. He would have jumped up in terror had they not been holding him down.

"'Kay, that's good. Wanna see, kitten? I can get you a mirror."

"No, thank you. Are we through, then?"

"Nope," Joker said, knife cutting through the knees of Jonathan's jeans now. "It's a car accident, remember? You'd be cut up all over."

"I hate my life," Jonathan muttered, unable to keep from jerking away this time, despite the henchmen called in to hold him immobile.

* * *

"Jonny? Jonny, wake up."

"I am awake," he said, trying to ignore the hand poking him in the one spot on his ribs that didn't seem to be covered in blood. "I've been awake throughout this ordeal."

"Then why've you been lying there like a dead thing?" Joker asked, with a tilt of his head.

"I was trying not to be affected by sensation," he explained. "So I wouldn't keep moving. I was off in my head."

"Well, come outta your happy place and check this out," Joker said, mirror in hand. "Great, isn't it?"

He stared at his reflection, almost startled at the blood smeared down his face. He'd known it was there, of course, he'd felt it applied, but he wasn't prepared for the vividness of it, how real it looked. The same held, he found, for the rest of the injuries, the one on his chest absolutely shocking. He wasn't how the Joker had transformed liquid latex into tattered skin and sinew, or what he'd used to make it look as though bits of Jonathan's sternum were visible through the scraped away flesh, but the effect was horrific. It wouldn't hold up under close scrutiny, of course, but it would certainly be convincing for a few minutes.

"You're incredible."

"I know."

"Where did you learn this?" he asked, gingerly running a hand over the skin pulled away at his temple.

"My sister was a makeup artist."

"Let me guess; she used a real knife as opposed to a palette knife, and one day she was practicing on you and it slipped?"

He blinked. "Have I told you that one before?"

"No. It just sounded like something you would say. So what's the plan?" He wondered if sitting up would ruin the makeup. Certainly it would coat the table with even more blood.

"The plan is, I bring you into the ER, you wait for the doctors to figure out what's going on and attack them. Meanwhile, my men have cut the phone lines and alarms and all, and sealed the other exits. You'll stay in the ER, taking down anyone who tries to come in, my men move through the hospital killing everyone else, and I just run around causing whatever chaos springs to mind."

"You're going to slaughter everyone?" Jonathan asked, shuddering at the thought of the body count. If Batman caught up with them, they'd be so dead he couldn't even come up with a clever analogy.

"No everyone. I figure if someone's in a coma, or covered in third degree burns or something, they're fucked enough without my help. Which reminds me, I need to give a speech to the men about how anyone caught making untoward advances on coma patients or something similar will be fed their own genitals."

"You object to that?" His brows raised, nearly getting fake blood into his eyes. "Isn't that chaotic?"

"It's not the right kind of chaos. There's a difference between pushing someone in a wheelchair downstairs and fucking a sleeping person. One's acceptable—"

"Really?"

He was ignored. "The other is not. At least the person in the chair could grab onto a railing."

"Wait," Jonathan said, the gears in his head turning slowly. "Your men are just securing the building and walking in? Not masquerading as patients or staff?"

"Right. It's not that hard to block an exit. I didn't need to go all out, especially since we don't know if this is the final laughing gas test."

"So then…couldn't we have just walked into the ER?" he asked, headache returning.

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

"So you did all this," he gestured to himself, "for no reason at all?"

"Yep." He grinned. "Actually, I didn't even plan to do it until this morning. I just left to get a slushie, then I saw all the Halloween stuff and thought, 'Well, why not?' And lo and behold, it turned out amazing."

"I hate you," Jonathan muttered, hands over his eyes. _Damn Joker to hell, and damn whoever invented slushies with him._

"Hate me as much as you want, but get up. It's time to go."

* * *

AN: My knees are the most ticklish part of my body. All it takes is someone's hand there to cause a fit. And since Jonathan's ticklishness and Joker's exploitation of it is entirely based on my relationship with my sister, I decided to give Jonny the same weakness.

I see Joker as having his own, weird little set of morals (one comic states that he's firmly against animal abuse, for example) that don't make a lot of sense or seem hypocritical to others. Raping a coma patient, for example, would offend him because there's no challenge, and because rape is not something I can see the Joker doing. He may threaten it to scare people, but I think he'd view the act itself as beneath him.

There will be real blood next time, I promise, and lots of it.


	30. Nervous

AN: A million awesome points to spazberry, for deciding to make an amazingly great fan art (fic art?) to the story, a beautiful picture of the Joker sleeping, from the chapter where Jonathan sees him without makeup. The sketch of it is on Deviant art, at this link http: // atroxbasium. deviantart. com/ art /Crane-Contemplates-a-Clown-108116187. You should all check it out and tell her how great she is. I'm flattered beyond reason.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

He was carried to the van, and instructed to lie down in the back, so to spill as little blood as possible. The Joker sat beside him as they rode, and though Jonathan couldn't make out his features clearly, glasses being off, but it seemed Joker had changed back into his suit, sans makeup.

"Do you think that's wise?" he asked. "I mean, I know things tend to work out in your favor, but really. Especially to a hospital you've already terrorized?"

He shrugged. "Nothing bad can happen to me, Jonny. It's like a universal constant."

Jonathan felt the urge to smack his head in exasperation, then remembered that he couldn't thanks to the makeup, and sighed. "Please tell me you don't actually believe that."

"Know what? When _you _manage to play chicken with the Batman and not get run over, then you can lecture me on my worldview."

He shook his head. All right, so the Joker wasn't nearly as recognizable without the makeup, but the suit and scars were highly memorable. The excuse of 'It's Halloween' could work, possibly, but who would want to dress as a psychotic terrorist? Then again, this was Gotham. "One of these days, your luck is going to run out. You know that, right?"

"I know no such thing. Look, we're here." He pulled a scarf out of one of his pockets, wrapping it around his nose and mouth. Oh. Well, that improved the disguise about a hundredfold. "Close your eyes and try to look like you're dying."

"I already look like I'm dying." He said, as the Joker picked him up.

"Yeah, but it always looks better when you put effort into it. Right, here's the plan. I carry you in, they take you from me, and I'll start knocking off the rest of the staff and all. Wait until you hear screaming, and then do as you please, okay?"

"Okay," he said, and was promptly slapped, lightly, across the unpainted side of his face.

"Dying people don't talk, kitten."

"But you—" Another slap, and he fell silent, with an inward sigh. Then they were rushing forward, the movement he was unable to see making him feel nauseous. He heard the slide of automatic doors, the murmur of voices quickly becoming louder, when they caught sight of him, he guessed, a mild panic, and then he was taken from the Joker's arms, the sensation nearly making him open his eyes from shock. He'd forgotten that there were only a handful of people he could stand to be touched by, and all but one of them were back in Arkham. The sudden, strange loss of security came very close to making him break character, and only imagining the Joker's displeasure if he did so made him keep his eyes shut.

To his immense relief, he was very quickly placed on a gurney or something similar, and pulled somewhere, the wheels below him sliding to a stop as he felt cold metal against his stomach—nearly making him move again—scissors, cutting through the shirt. He opened his eyes just barely, only enough to take in what was going on, and watched as they pulled the fabric off of him, hovering over him and talking rapidly. Upon pulling of the right sleeve, the canister of toxin was discovered, his arm pulled up by the wrist strap.

"What the—"

There was screaming, suddenly, somewhere down the hall. The doctors, or nurses, or whatever they were turned toward the doorway in confusion, and Jonathan took advantage of the movement to sit up, pulling his wrist free. By the time the woman holding him had turned around, he'd fired, her taking the blast straight in the face. She fell to the floor at once, laughing before she even hit, her companions taking a second to look down at her before turning around, a second he took to fire again, rapidly. A few were hit directly; the remaining quickly disposed of as well. Jonathan had no fighting ability whatsoever, but fear made many stupid, and stupidity was easy to take advantage of. Not to mention that the best thing about the toxin; he didn't actually have to fight hand to hand. Some might consider that cowardly. He considered it making a wise decision.

Standing, he watched the fake blood drip from his body onto his shoes for a few seconds, before turning to admire his handiwork. Most of them were still in the process of dying, but the one he'd shot first appeared to be dead, smile frozen on her face. He knelt down, checking for a pulse to confirm it and finding none, contemplating for a moment why her death had come so quickly. She was older, so that may explain it, or perhaps the toxin had brought out some horrible past experience to terrible to relive. Shame he couldn't perform an autopsy at the moment. Ah well. She was dead with the smile still in place, and the screaming down the halls reminded him that the Joker would be requiring assistance.

He encountered no less than ten people on his way through the ward, following the screams, and disposed of them all with little trouble. Well, beyond the panicked orderly who'd managed to slam him into a wall, but that one had been force fed such an amount of the laughing gas that he was dead before the effects could even start. Jonathan could feel the start of bruises around his throat and was still angry about it, though the way the others he'd ran into had been running around like chickens with their heads cut off had helped to improve his mood. Panic had that lovely little way of blinding people to their surroundings, making running up to what seemed like a horrifically injured stranger and asking what was going on sound just perfectly logical. It was fantastic, and nicely contradictory given that the 'flight' in flight-or-fight response was supposed to lessen chance of death, not increase it. Had the Joker not been expecting him, he would have stopped to study it all.

Jonathan found the Joker in one of the triage areas, makeup reapplied, and slitting a nurse's throat. He watched the blood splatter strike the wall, red dripping down the tile like a twisted piece of modern art. "Hello, Jonny! How's it working out?"

"It works," he said, smiling. "Even after they're dead, I mean."

"Fantastic." He let the body collapse to the floor, taking Jonathan by the waist and lifting him into the air, spinning him around for a brief, dizzying second. The incongruity of such a romantic act in such a macabre situation might have amused him, were he not too busy being relieved at the Joker's touch. He hadn't realized how safe it made him feel until he was taken from the clown, and realized, somewhat, that this was the last person he should depend on for security, but he didn't care. As soon as his shoes touched the floor again, their lips were together, hard and passionate. He hoped they'd never stop, toxin be damned, and the kiss stretched out so long, he thought for a moment that it really might not end.

Of course it did, however, with the Joker pulling back. He tried leaning in a second time only to be pushed away, softly. "I've got things to do, kitten."

"Then can I come?" He was holding his hand like a child, but somehow, he didn't feel completely disgusted with himself for doing it. Even Scarecrow had nothing to say, though Jonathan couldn't tell if that was from agreement or repulsion. Probably repulsion.

"No. I need you to guard the doors." Holding his hand in return, Joker dragged him back through the hall, stepping over the bodies the pair had left in their wake, until they came to face the sliding glass doors that marked the entrance to the ER. "Anyone comes in, take 'em down. Think you can do that?"

He shook his wrist, listening to the sloshing from inside the canister. It still sounded fairly full. "Yes."

"Good. I'll be back soon, and don't worry, all right? I'll be on the lookout for guys wielding trash cans."

"And bats," Jonathan added, to the clown's retreating back.

He laughed. "I'm always on the lookout for bats, honey."

"Yes, but you'd enjoy running into him," Jonathan muttered, turning back to the doors. He told himself that he wasn't jealous. No, he just didn't want the Joker sent back to Arkham. What was he supposed to do without him? Certainly, he'd lived on his own, and evaded the Bat before, but never after crimes of this magnitude. The entire city would come down on them like a stack of bricks after this. At least the last time the Joker had attacked a hospital, it had been empty.

He sat on the counter of the nurses' station for about twenty minutes or so, getting up only to deal with the occasional newcomer, trying to convince himself that he wasn't concerned for the Joker's safety. _He can take care of himself. That bank thing was a one-time slip up._ Right. Just like the time with the bank manager and the shotgun. Or when he was in a semi truck as it flipped over. Or thrown out of a building. Or any of his other near death experiences. Maybe he wasn't that lucky, after all.

He tasted plastic in his mouth and realized he'd been trying to bite his nails through the Band-Aids. He pulled his fingers from his mouth and Hello Kitty stared up at him, her expressionless face somehow seeming to convey a sense of deep disappointment. "Hey, I'm trying to quit."

No response. Thank God he hadn't completely lost it and started hearing voices. Voices besides Scarecrow, anyway.

He was just about out of his mind with worry when the Joker returned, garbage bag swung over his shoulder like Santa Claus gone Satanic. "Hello kitten."

He resisted the urge to tackle-hug him, thankfully. His dignity would not have survived that. "Get what you needed?"

"Yep."

"Which is what?" he asked, eying the bag.

"You'll see." Joker put the bag on the floor, knotting the top. "Miss me?"

He nodded.

"I think you're becoming an addict, scaredy cat."

"Am not. I just feel safe around you. What's wrong with that?"

"Safe?" Joker repeated. A number of expressions flashed over his face, as if he wasn't sure whether to be amused, surprised, or annoyed at the information. He seemed to settle on a vague confusion. "You feel safe around me? I thought I scared the hell outta you."

"When you drugged me, yes." And the rest of the time as well, thought he didn't want to admit it and risk alienating the Joker. Still, even with the constant, if not powerful fear that Joker would eviscerate him for some minor offense hanging over his head, it was preferable to being around other, unknown people. "But not like this. I trust you."

"Well, that's no fun." Joker stepped behind the counter, searching through the cabinets. "I like it when you're afraid of me. Makes things more entertaining."

"What are you looking for?" he asked, suddenly apprehensive.

He laughed. "See, like that."

"That's not fear," Jonathan protested. _Oh, this can't be good. _"It's curiosity."

"Like hell it is. Found it!' he announced, straightening up. Jonathan turned to see what he was holding, only to find a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to lie down.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, forcing himself to breathe normally. Much like Scarecrow, Joker seemed to feed off fear—or any negative emotion—and he wasn't going to add fuel to the fire, not if he could help it. There were hands on his abdomen now, pulling the liquid latex off, the sensation painful. What remained of his shirt, the left sleeve that hadn't been removed before he'd begun his attack, was pulled off, used to wipe away as much of the blood and makeup as possible. "Joker?"

He felt the cold touch of metal against his body again, stiffening for a moment before he realized that whatever it was, it wasn't sharp.

"Seeing if I scare you."

"What?"

A sigh. "I'm listening to your heartbeat."

He blinked, going from apprehensive to totally lost. "Is that a stethoscope?"

"Yep. Quiet, I'm listening." A pause, about thirty seconds long. "It's pretty steady." He sounded disappointed.

"I told you, I'm not afraid of you."

"Really?" A hand brushed against his face. "Hey, it sped up a little."

"Yes, because I wasn't expecting to be touched, not because I was afraid."

"Mmm-hmm?" The Joker smirked. Oh, that couldn't signify anything good. The hand moved from his face to his throat, trailing lightly over the bruised skin. He felt the flesh where the hand had been break out in goose bumps, though a flush of heat was spreading through him. "Sped up again. Sure I don't make you nervous, Jonny?"

_Does 'bothered and hot' count as nervous? _he wondered. Of course it did, at least as far as the Joker was concerned. Any intimate activity with him was just as likely to end with painful, gruesome death as it was to end with cuddling. _For the love of God, don't let this be the former._

Joker moved down again, this time to the end of his sternum. He stopped, listened, smirked.

"What?" Jonathan asked, trying very hard to ignore the way his pants suddenly felt tighter.

"You sound like Bambi's little rabbit friend."

He stared. "Who?"

"Thumper. God, I need to show you Disney sometime." He knelt down, lips close enough to Jonathan's throat that he could feel the breath there, when he next spoke. "Are you nervous?"

"N—" he began, and then the Joker's hand was moving down again, his tongue lightly moving over Jonathan's skin, and all he could do was moan.

"Are you being honest with me, kitten?"

His hand had paused at the start of Jonathan's pants, threatening to go no lower, and he could not stand for that. Not after that build-up. "I'm n-nervous," he said, knowing he was completely humiliating himself and not caring.

"I can tell," he said, tapping the end of the stethoscope with the hand still holding it. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No. God, no."

"You sure?" he asked, eyes glittering.

_So he wants me to beg. Damn it. _"Yes, I'm sure. Absolutely s-sure. Coming down from a mountaintop and starting a religion sure—just go on, you bastard!"

"Language, Jonny," he said, still smirking, but his hand went between the fabric and Jonathan's skin, moving down once more, and Jonathan lost the ability to care about his complete emasculation. Or anything for that matter, beyond the sensation.

* * *

AN: Sorry if the sexiness traumatized anyone for life. I thought it came across as fairly normal, almost cute foreplay (given the couple and the situation, anyway) but when I mentioned it to a friend he nearly died. So if I've given you horrible mental scars, I apologize.


	31. Bloodbath

AN: Warning: This is likely the most depraved thing I've written so far. Sorry. If you don't like blood (and oh yes, there will be blood) you won't enjoy it and there's really no way to avoid that bit of the chapter, as it's plot relevant. Just…uh…maybe try replacing 'blood' with something happy like cotton candy in your mind when you read it?

Sorry about the delay, I meant to have this up last night, but my laptop had other ideas and ate two of the pages.

Speaking of awesome points, another million to Lyndalion16, who made some beautiful fic art for both _Act Like We Are Fools _and _Mad Friends. _Her Deviant Art gallery is at http:// muezac. deviantart. com/ gallery/, just remove the spaces, check them out, and tell her how awesome she is.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

He sat beside the Joker, head resting on the clown's shoulder and watching out the window as the city sped by, still covered in makeup and fake blood. It didn't annoy him as much as he thought it would. Then again, after the experience back in the nurses' station, it was hard to be upset about anything. Joker didn't share his sentiments, apparently, and kept muttering under his breath about Batman and slipping standards, duty to the city and whatnot. He was beginning to think the reason they'd stayed so long had nothing to do with him, and had rather been about lingering in hopes the vigilante would appear. Well, he felt appreciated.

The Joker was still muttering to himself, Jonathan tilting his head back to watch him. It didn't look as if he were calming down anytime soon, so he sat up, turning to face him, and kissed him on the cheek. Joker paused, silent, and for a moment Jonathan thought he'd be slapped. But he only shrugged, wrapping an arm around Jonathan's shoulders. "I'll tell you one thing, kitten, today won't be a complete waste. God, can't you just imagine the look on Batman's face when he sees the security footage?"

Jonathan stiffened. "The what?" _Please please please mean the killing people part. Please tell me that wasn't in view of a camera. If there is a God, please tell me that wasn't caught on tape. Shit._

"The footage?" Joker smirked. "Of the two of us in an, uh, intimate moment. What, you didn't know there was a camera there?"

There was no God. "So it's on tape?" _Oh, fuck. _He'd never felt such a mix of horror and humiliation before. Batman would see it, the Commissioner would see it, the entire GPD would see it, and most likely the news stations would get their hands on it as well. _Fuck._ "Why the hell did you do that, if you knew we were being filmed?"

"I did it _because _there was a camera, Jonny." If he saw Jonathan's incredulous expression, he ignored it.  
"See, I'm not gonna hang around after a plan to give my boyfriend a hand job without good reason. That sorta thing can wait until we get home, you know? But then I noticed that we were on tape, and I thought, well, let's give 'em something to talk about!"

Jonathan slapped him, to no effect at all. "You son of a bitch!"

"Hey, that's my mother you're talking about. Though, actually, she kinda was horrible. I remember one day when she—" He was cut off by the rain of blows Jonathan was casting at him, whatever he'd been about to say interrupted by his partner's shouts.

"You—you idiot! Have you no sense of shame? Or at least dignity?" Well, that was a moronic question. Of course he didn't. Still, it was a stunning reminder of how absolutely unconcerned he was. "Or respect for mine? You can't just—I didn't—bastard!"

"Hey." Joker took hold of his wrists, tightening his grip when Jonathan tried to pull away. "Would you please calm down? There's nothing to be upset over."

"Nothing to—are you out of your mind?" Screw love, attraction or not, there was nothing he wanted more right now than to get his hands around the Joker's throat and strangle the life out of him. Pity he wasn't nearly strong enough to get free. "You—you and I were—there's—the news stations are going to get a hold of that tape, idiot! And while I'm sure you couldn't care less what the police force thinks of you, I'd think your massive ego wouldn't allow for you to become the laughingstock of Gotham!"

"Oh, so this is another one of your control issues, hmm?" Damn him and his ability to be so unconcerned, even when his own dignity was at stake. "You don't want anyone to see your acting as my bitch because you'd lose respect? News flash, Jonny: You didn't have a hell of a lotta respect in the first place. I mean, first you got imprisoned in your own asylum, after being poisoned with your own drug, then you got tazered, dragged around the city unconscious on horseback, lived in the sewers for a few months, got arrested, and then broke out again only to become a drug dealer, possibly the most, uh, pathetic position for a super villain ever. Seriously, do I even need to explain how ridiculous all that is?"

"Oh, shut up. At least there weren't videos of a deranged clown performing carnal acts on me circulating the city at the time."

"Except they won't be circulating the city. For God's sake, do you even think about things before spazzing out over them? You can't show stuff like that on TV, Mr. Supposed Genius. Sure, they can show me being violent as hell and torturing people, but sexuality? For some ridiculous reason, that crosses a line. The most they can show is the fooling around leading up to that moment, and even if they show that, it'll be nothing worse than the last security footage, from that store. More boring, actually, because most of what we did beforehand was verbal, and the cameras aren't wired for sound. Besides, the reporters are gonna have their hands full with covering the mass death thing, bothering the police, all that."

_Ah. Thank God. _The fact that it wouldn't be broadcast—at least not in its entirety—lessened his anger somewhat. But only slightly, from murderous rage to severe trauma rage. "This is the media we're talking about. Fixation with tragedy or not, are you honestly trying to tell me they won't latch onto this 'villain sex' thing like piranhas?"

Joker sighed. "Kitten, you do realize you're only proving how pathetic you are by getting so worked up over this? Grow a pair, man. Shrug it off. Look, if we see any news reports that casts us as people to be mocked, we'll find the idiots behind it, and show them how _dead _wrong they are. Okay?"

"I'm still very angry at you."

"You know, you've really only got yourself to blame for this. Honestly, what were you expecting? You can't just say something like, 'I feel safe around you,' and think I won't do something to shatter that trust. C'mon Jonny, I've got standards to uphold."

Never had the phrase 'I love you, but I don't have to like you' been more apt. "Let me get this straight. This entire relationship you've been working to get to the point where I'm not afraid of you, and when I admit I'm not, you have to do something to undermine the connection. Do you realize that that makes no sense at all?"

"I make perfect sense." Jonathan rolled his eyes and Joker tightened his grip. "No, I mean it. I just don't make sense in a way other people get. And my main goal is and has always been to push you over the edge, remember? Something like what we just did? That's one hell of push. Or it will be, once the word gets out."

Jonathan, not trusting himself to keep from shouting, bit down on his tongue and counted backwards from one hundred. "Let go."

"Hmm…" Joker pursed his lips as if in thought. "No, I don't think I will. Not until you've forgiven me, anyway."

"You—you shameless—you conniving—you scoundrel!"

Joker broke out laughing, so hard it brought tears to his eyes. "The hell did you just call me?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Are you still mad?" Joker asked with a pout that, despite the makeup, bloodstains, and scars, managed to make him look exactly like a five year old boy.

_Well, obviously. _"No. So let go."

"No, I'm comfortable this way."

Jonathan began cursing in languages he hadn't even known he spoke.

* * *

"What's in the bag, anyway?" he asked irritably, as they arrived back at the apartment.

"Stuff. You'll see." He turned to face him, eyes scanning Jonathan's less than ecstatic expression, and frowned. He slid the bag from his shoulder, unknotting it, though holding it at angle that Jonathan couldn't see its contents. A balloon floated out, a bright yellow smiley face, and Joker took it by the string and handed it to Jonathan. "Here. I think you need this more than I do."

He took it, staring in disbelief. "Where did this come from?"

"A little girl in the hospital."

"You stole a little girl's balloon after you killed her?" It just figured. Any gift from the Joker that seemed sweet would have to be incredibly disturbing, in some way.

"First of all," Joker said, sitting down on the bed and shrugging off his coat. "I didn't kill her. And second of all, she gave it to me. She thought I was an actual clown."

There was no way that was true. No way in hell. There wasn't a person in Gotham who didn't know who the Joker was, at least, no one over six. Though he found himself hoping it was true, then realized he was feeling concern for some child he didn't know and cut it out. "What, the scars and the scent of blood and gunpowder didn't tip her off?"

"I think she was coming off of anesthesia or something. And she was really young. Like four. Anyway, I showed her a card trick, she gave me her balloon, I went on."

"You do card tricks?" In spite of his anger and his sureness that this was a lie, he found himself intrigued.

"Well, yeah. I'm an entertainer." He pulled a deck from a vest pocket. "Watch, this is the one I did for her." Shuffling a few times, he fanned the deck out and extended it to Jonathan. Worn as the cards were, the red back pattern still reflected the overhead light, though only slightly. "Pick any card you want. Don't let me see it."

"All right." He pulled one from the right side, holding it up. The ten of spades. "Now what?"

"Now stick it back in." Joker waited as he did so, placing the card in the deck at random, then pushed the cards back together, tapped the top, cut the deck and shuffled. He spread the deck out on the sheets in a line, backs up.

One card, near the center of the deck, was blue.

Jonathan stared. "Where did that come from?" _He must have had it up his sleeve, but I was watching his hands the whole time. When did he slip it out?_

Joker looked every bit as surprised as he did. "No idea. But hey," he reached down, picking it up. "Isn't this your card?"

The ten of spades.

"I—how did you—"

"Wait, it goes on." Joker held up a hand to silence him. "Here, I'll get rid of this, and we'll do it again." He lay the blue card off to the side on the bed, face down, and held out the red deck. "Cut it, and lie the part you cut face up on the rest."

"Okay." He did, eyes focused on the clown's hands. He must have had the card up his sleeve, though Jonathan couldn't figure out how he'd known which card to have concealed. Well, he'd figure it out this time. That was the thing with tricks; the more you saw it, the more obvious it became.

"Cut it deeper, and do it again."

He did so, and the Joker fanned out the deck. "Right, now get the first face down card, and don't show it to me." He did. The five of diamonds. "Put it back in," Joker said, rearranging the cards so they were all face down. Jonathan complied, and he shuffled, spreading the cards out on the sheet as he was done. They were all red.

Jonathan blinked. "Where's the blue one?"

"Er…I dunno. Here, lemme try it again." He shuffled, spread out. All red. "Well, I'm not sure why there's not a blue one. But…" He reached over to the blue card from the first trick, lying forgotten on the pillow, and held it up. "Isn't this your card?"

The five of diamonds.

Jonathan felt his eyes grow wide. "You're a magician."

"Told you so." He repocketed the deck, standing. "If you'll excuse me, I gotta do something." He picked up the bag and headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"But I wanted to take a shower." He was still drenched in fake blood and liquid latex and God knows what else.

"Gimme a minute." There was a pause. "Hey, kitten? Could you get me some matches?"

_Oh, this can't be good. _"You're locked in a bathroom with a bag full of balloons. What use could you possibly have for matches?"

Joker giggled from the other side of the door. "I never said the bag was full of balloons. Yours is the only one. Now go—wait, never mind, found some in my pocket."

"Joker, what are you doing in there?" He was beginning to feel very uneasy. The clown hadn't been kidding when he said he planned to ruin Jonathan's sense of security. "Joker?"

"You'll see." Another giggle.

_Oh, hell. _He glanced at the balloon, hovering along the ceiling, its smile seemed sinister, somehow. _This can only end badly. Very badly._ The minutes crawled by, and only when Jonathan felt the tension was about to tear him apart did Joker emerge, body blocking the view inside and stepping through quickly, closing the door behind him.

"Go on in."

Jonathan shivered. Something about the Joker's carefree manner, the innocuous way he said it, was even more frightening than the wait had been. It reminded him of the way his great grandmother used to act as though she was perfectly calm over something, then wait until the moment Jonathan dropped his guard to bring her cane down on him. "What did you do?"

"Go see." Joker stepped behind him, giving him a light shove toward the door. "I'll be right behind you. It'll be fine."

Jonathan took a deep breath, fighting a shudder as he opened the door and stepped through, Joker at his heels. The smell struck him before the sight, somehow warm, if scents could carry temperature, and metallic, coppery, like…

_Blood. Oh, Jesus Christ. _He exhaled sharply the moment his mind processed the image before him. The bathtub was filled, nearly to the brim, with blood. Dark, thick, red. And it couldn't be fake. He could tell that from the smell. _Oh my God._

"So, whaddya think?" Joker asked, sounding proud of himself.

He couldn't answer for a moment, not trusting himself to keep from vomiting if he opened his mouth. He swallowed back the bile he'd felt rise in his throat, shaking all over. It was like a nightmare. "You—this—where did it—"

"We were in a hospital, kitten," he said calmly, grinning. "They've got blood around."

"_Why_?"

"My men aren't the most thorough in the world. A lotta the people in Gotham General could still be alive, but they'll be injured, badly, and more than likely in need of blood. That's gonna cause a blood shortage, and I wanted to help that along. What's the point in starting a massacre if half of 'em could live? It undermines the message."

"But why bring it here?" He could feel his legs giving out, the Joker catching him right before he fell. _I'm going to faint._ "Why do this?"

"_Weeeell_, remember when you said the reason you don't take baths is because you don't like water?"

_Oh. My. God. _He really _was _going to be sick, he could feel his body heaving. Only the Joker's hand, thrown over his mouth at the last moment, kept him from vomiting, out of fear he'd choke on it. He was still shaking, still nauseous, overcome with the urge to run for his life. _This is sick. Unbelievably sick. There aren't words for how wrong this is._

"I tried using bubble bath," Joker said conversationally. "Didn't take, though."

"You're insane."

"Oh, pull yourself together. It's just blood. Everyone has it."

"Not everyone—" he paused, vision swimming for a second, and went on. "Bathes in it. That's wrong beyond reason."

"Since when do _you_ have a sense of right and wrong? Look, it's donor blood, it's been tested. You can't get AIDS from it or anything."

The Joker was still holding him up, and he found there was nothing comforting about his touch anymore. Doubtless that had been his intention. Well, he'd never make the mistake of admitting something like a sense of security to him, never again. Still fighting the urge to vomit, he cast for any logical excuse to stop this from happening. "You _can't_ bathe in blood, you idiot. It congeals."

"Thought of that." Joker knelt down, bringing Jonathan with him. "Remember when I asked if you had matches? I took some of those, uh, candley heater things they use to keep food warm from the hospital cafeteria, see? So now it won't."

He could see it, in the space between the bathtub and the floor. _Damn whatever idiot designed bathtubs that weren't attached to the floor. Damn him to hell, and damn the clown with him. _"This is sick."

Joker picked him up, kicked off his shoes, and stepped into the bathtub, clothes and all. "This is beautiful. Blood is life, kitten, just like that guy from _Dracula _was always going on about."

_Renfield, _he thought automatically, before the blood touched his body and he temporarily lost the ability to think. The sensation…well, there weren't words to describe it. It was terribly cold toward the surface and terribly warm lower down, and he tried shutting his eyes and pretending he was in water, but water didn't feel this way and besides, the smell was a dead giveaway. _Oh God oh God oh God._ It didn't help that sitting in a large amount of any kind of liquid was enough to bring back horrific childhood memories. He struggled to gain some semblance of self control, before he completely lost it and started to panic, screaming 'Please don't hold me under!' and the like.

"W-what goes on in your head," he managed, after what felt like days, "to give you ideas like t-this?"

"The Countess Elizabeth Báthory," Joker said at once. Jonathan stared up at him, realized he was still holding on tightly to the clown, as if hoping that feeling of safety would return. Disgusted with himself, he wanted to pull away, but was still too terrified and sickened to let go, clinging to the one thing he knew.

"Who?"

Joker shook his head. "And you call yourself a horror fan? Transylvanian nobility, and a serial killer. Liz was thought to have killed over six hundred people, all of them young virgins. Her, uh, belief was that bathing in the blood of the young and beautiful would restore her own youth and beauty. She believed there was power in blood." He took one hand off of Jonathan, reaching down and coming back up with a handful of blood, red dripping from between his fingers, and onto Jonathan's face.

For about the millionth time since coming into the bathroom, he fought the urge to vomit. He could taste that coppery flavor on his lips, and wiped them quickly, shaking. "She was crazy."

"Now, why does anyone with an, uh, nonstandard viewpoint get labeled as crazy? I'll admit that the whole eternal youth thing was way outta touch with reality, but the idea that blood is power? Not crazy at all." He took another handful, pouring it over Jonathan's hair like shampoo.

Jonathan could feel himself fainting, the sensation of slipping away, mentally, everything going black. He was brought to by a slap across the face, leaving a bloody handprint from the feel.

"I wasn't done explaining, Jonny."

"Sorry."

"Why do you think the gods of so many ancient civilizations demanded blood sacrifice? Because blood is powerful. Even Christians do it. The whole body and body thing? For ours is the power and the glory, amen."

"That's not how it goes."

"Whatever. Think about it. It's the most essential thing for human survival, over water and food and everything, except oxygen, maybe. It is the life force of everything on the planet that has it, and here we are, lying in it. Know what that means?"

"That you want to torture me?" He could feel it dripping through his hair, cold and miserable, feeling sickened and unnerved, and above all, exhausted. It seemed the situation was too much to hold back his fatigue.

"No, kitten. It means that we are superior. We have enough power to take the life force of others and use it as bath water, for Christ's sake. If that's not power, I dunno what is. So enjoy it, because it's a sign that you're a force to be reckoned with, sex tapes or not."

What truly disturbed him is that, disgusted though he still was, he could see the Joker's logic. "I'm to believe this entire debacle is meant to make me feel better about that tape?"

Joker laughed. "Please. Not at all. It's about my having a good time, and your getting another little push over the edge. You oughta see yourself, scaredy cat. You're shaking. I think this is the first time I've ever seen you fully emotional, without restraint. Excepting that time with the laughing gas, but that doesn't really count, does it?"

_I hate you._ "Did it ever occur to you that if I go over the edge, you might not like the end result?"

"Oh, I will. It's like a rose, remember? It might be pretty before it fully opens, but the ending bloom is always the best part. Even diseased or dying roses have a sorta tragic beauty to 'em."

"Lovely." He tried glaring up at him, giving up when he realized it made blood drip into his eyes. "How comforting to hear that you'll appreciate my 'tragic beauty' when I've go completely mad and spend the rest of my life in a straitjacket, screaming through all hours of the night like the poor bastard in the cell next to mine with half his face burnt off, or the patient I had who hallucinated that she was covered in maggots and tried ripping her skin off, or—"

The Joker's hand, dripping with blood, was over his mouth. "Wait, wait, wait. Back up." His eyes had a sort of hungry shine to them, as if something Jonathan said had appealed to him greatly. "Didya just say there's a guy in Arkham with half his face all burnt?"

Hand still over his mouth, Jonathan nodded. The hand lifted instantly, and he fought the urge to gag from the blood he'd tasted.

"All right." The Joker was shaking, from excitement, he guessed, given the look on his face. "Now, think about this carefully, Jonathan, because it's important. What does he look like?"

"Get rid of this," Jonathan said, indicating the blood around them, "and I'll tell you." It was a gamble, but if he had to stay here one second longer, he really would faint, slaps or not.

For a second he thought he'd be hit, but the Joker only nodded, unstopping the drain and switching on the shower. The water was cold as ice for the first few seconds, the shock of it on top of his fear and disgust making Jonathan's heart skip a beat. "Happy now? Tell me."

"Let me see." He paused in thought, biting his still bloody lips. "I heard him more than I saw him…er…white…not sure on the age, he seemed older than me…blond hair, um—"

"What color were his eyes?"

_Well, that one's easy. _He wasn't about to forget the sight of that huge, lidless eyes staring at him anytime soon. "Blue."

He felt Joker shiver again. "And the burn was only on one side of his face, right? I mean, it was massive, all the way down the neck and over the scalp, but just on the one side?"

"Yes," he said, as his revulsion slowly gave way to confusion. What was so important about this mental patient? An ex-comrade of the Joker's, or what? "The left side, I think."

Joker's lips were on him, smearing blood with lipstick in one long, passionate moment, his tongue nearly going to the back of Jonathan's throat before he pulled away. "Jonathan, you little genius."

"Er…" Not that the situation hadn't gotten a hundred time better since they were getting rid of the blood and Joker was back to being affectionate, but he was confused to nearly the point of dizziness. "May I ask why this information is such good news?"

"Because," Joker said, between kisses on Jonathan's neck, ignoring the way his partner giggled and pulled away, "I just figured out exactly how we're gonna draw Batman back out, and ensure he loses his status as public enemy number two."

That added to the confusion, if anything, but between the blood and the tickling and his exhaustion, he didn't feel up to asking. He let his head fall back, Joker still biting and kissing, watching what remained of the blood mix with the water, making deep pink, swirling patterns as it circled the drain. His last thought, before falling asleep, was that he must really be losing it, because watching it like that, he could see the Joker's point about beauty.

* * *

AN: Um. Yeah. I have absolutely no idea where that came from. Usually, I have some idea, but not this time. This is what goes on inside my head, I guess. I nearly added a bit that would have made it even worse, but decided to hold that over for the next chapter.

The magic trick is one I was shown by a coworker, and my mind is still blown by it. Jonathan's reaction is my own, as were the cards he drew. Not sure why, but I have the feeling Joker would know actual magic tricks, in addition to things like his trick with a pencil. And I don't think he's adverse to killing children, just that he wasn't in the mood to do so with that particular girl.


	32. Scheme

AN: This chapter contains more weird sexual interaction. I don't know why I felt compelled to write it, but it's there, so this is a heads up.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

It was the singing that woke him up. Jonathan lay still for a moment, trying to place his surroundings before he opened his eyes. If Joker had brought anything else in that bag, if he was planning something worse than the bloodbath, he didn't want to give away that he was conscious. Even if it meant lying here for days.

"There's a lake of stew and whiskey too, you can paddle all around it in a big canoe, in the Big Rock Candy Mountains."

Judging from the texture below him, he was back on the bed. While that was more comforting than being in some unknown location, he wasn't fully reassured. If the Joker could turn something as ordinary as a bathtub into something horrific—much like his grandmother, he thought, repressing a shudder—God only knew what he could do to a bed. Eyes still shut, he listened, trying to pick up on any sounds that might give away what the clown was up to.

But there was only silence, apart from the Joker's voice. "In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, the jails are made of tin, and you can walk right out again as soon as you are in…"

Well, there was nothing to be learned by lying here. Bracing himself for something terrible, like finding the Joker had redecorated the apartment using severed heads or something else sick the clown would find humorous, he opened his eyes, sitting up.

The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer covered in blood, real or fake, and the makeup was gone as well. _Thank God._ He wasn't sure if he could have handled it, waking up coated in dried blood. The second thing he noticed was that his clothes were gone. He supposed that wasn't surprising, given that they'd been as bloody as he was, but he wasn't expecting to find himself in the Joker's Batman boxers. Incredulous, he pulled them up slightly; though Joker was obviously thin, Jonathan's hips were narrower, and the mere act of sitting up had almost tugged them off.

"I'll see you all this coming fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountains!" Joker finished, holding the last note for longer than Jonathan would have thought physically possible.

"Wouldn't have figured you for a bluegrass fan," he said, hoping his tone sounded more irritated than he actually felt. Drenched in blood and exploited on tape, he still couldn't be as angry as he was confused. Joker's questions about the burn victim in Arkham had left him off balance, and almost…well, he'd never admit it to himself, but jealous. As if it wasn't enough that he had to compete with the Batman for the Joker's affections, along came this stranger? But it wouldn't be wise to let the Joker know how bewildered he was. Likely, the clown would find it good sport to keep him in the dark for as long as possible.

The Joker shrugged. "I'm not tied down to one particular style. I like songs, not genres." His makeup was off, Jonathan noticed, his angelic, youthful appearance making it hard to remain angry about his transgressions from earlier. Hard, but not impossible. His suit looked impeccable, somehow not stained from the blood.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, more lost than ever. _Wonder what stain remover he uses. Must come from God Himself, to get _that _out._

"Lemme see…you fell asleep about one, so three hours."

"How did you get your clothes washed that quickly?"

"Huh?" Joker glanced down at his attire. "Oh, this. I didn't, kitten. That suit's likely destroyed forever."

"So you have more than one?" he asked, imagining a closet full of nothing but purple suits, as if out of a cartoon.

"Well, yeah. You probably wouldn't know this, since you don't fight, uh, hand-to-hand a lot, but fabric tears easy when you get physical."

He didn't respond to the dig at his fighting abilities, though the anger was starting to equal the confusion. He'd been violated so many ways today; his privacy with the tape, his security with the bloodbath, and the attempt at destroying his sanity as well. He was getting sick of it, though he couldn't think of a way to stand up for himself that wouldn't leave him slaughtered, or at least maimed.

The Joker, however, seemed to read his thoughts, as he so often appeared to. "You're angry, huh?"

"Yes." There was no point in lying, Joker could always see straight through that. "And hurt. Why is it that every time I'm starting to know where I stand, you have to do something horrible to displace everything?"

"Because I'm an agent of chaos, Jonny." His eyes glittered with amusement.

"So?" It was the response of a petulant child, but that's about how he was feeling at the moment.

Joker sighed. "Jonathan, and look, I'm saying 'Jonathan,' so you know I'm uh…serious." He winced, as if the word pained him to say. "Try and see it from my worldview for a second, okay? Chaos is my drive, my mission. It's like my nirvana, all right? Total chaos is the ultimate achievement. So when I push _you _toward chaos, by undermining everything, I'm helping you out, even if you don't know it. Taking a princess and making him an angel, see?"

It was almost touching, strangely beautiful, the way he explained it. Still didn't lessen the shock and irritation from the day's exploits, though. "All right, but that doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I'm not asking you to forgive me, Jonathan. Just to understand." Joker took Jonathan's hands in his, and Jonathan noted that the _Hello Kitty _Band-Aids had been switched out—likely soaked through with the blood—with bandages covered by rainbows and unicorns. Fantastic.

"Fine. We're meeting each other halfway, then?"

He nodded enthusiastically, green-streaked hair swinging up and down.

Jonathan tried not to dwell on the fact that such a shaky truce wasn't likely to hold for long. "So what's your grand scheme to lure the Batman out? And what's the big deal about this mental patient?"

"Ah. So glad you asked, kitten." Joker paused, inhaling deeply as if basking in his own brilliance. "We're gonna break into Arkham and release all the inmates. But especially your neighbor. I'll need you to tape that one for me, so we can send it to all the news stations."

"But why? What's so special about him?"

Joker smirked at him, shook his head. "Honestly, scaredy cat, for a genius, you're slow. You don't recognize Harvey Dent when you see him?"

It was like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. "You're telling me that's _Harvey Dent_?" His mind refused to process it. When he thought 'white knight,' he didn't think 'massively scarred mentally ill patient.'

"Well, duh." He rolled his eyes, giggling. "How many people in this city have burns perfectly on one half of their heads? Really now, he was only all over the news forever when I first showed up, and hey, wouldn't he have been the prosecutor at your trial? How did you not know him?"

"He wasn't missing half of his face at my trial, and my mind was still affected by the fear gas at the time," Jonathan protested, annoyed. "And the news reports only said that he'd been burned in an explosion, not what the injuries looked like. Come to think of it, you never mentioned that when I lived with you six months ago, either. The most you said was that the police were lying about his death. So how would I know it was him?"

Joker held up his hands. "All right, all right, no need to get all pissed about it. The point is, I'm gonna break him out, and you're gonna get the whole thing on tape, so the good people of Gotham will know their white knight is still around, and see what he's truly become. Plus, Batman's name'll be cleared once this gets out, so he won't have to hide from the cops anymore and we can play all we want."

Jonathan considered it. It sounded insane, but then, so did all of Joker's plans, and they'd all worked so far. But Harvey Dent…Jonathan didn't know much about him, having never paid attention to his speeches on the news networks and being so out of touch with reality during his trial he had no memory of Dent's prosecution at all, but he was supposed to be a perfect leader. Selfless, loving, truly wanting to make Gotham a better place. And while Jonathan was sure that was untrue, as he tended to think the worst of people, suppose it wasn't? Sure, he'd gone off the deep end and shot a few people, but there was the off chance he was responding to therapy. And if he didn't want to leave, the Joker might hang around for some time trying to convince him…long enough for the Bat to show up and take them out. "What if Dent doesn't want to leave?"

He smiled. "The beautiful thing about Harvey, is that in his current state, he can't make decisions on his own too well. Trust me, there's a fifty percent chance at least that he'll wanna break out, and even if he doesn't, we'll have proof of his existence on tape, and all the little citizens will know they've been lied to. Won't that be fun to watch the GPD try and cover their asses for? Wouldn't be surprised if it gave Commissioner Gordon a stroke, would you?"

That made him slightly uncomfortable, though he knew it shouldn't. He could care less about the Commissioner personally, but the thought processes at work in the mind of a man fighting so hard in an ultimately doomed battle were fascinating. He didn't want the man to die, almost concerned for him in a way. And, though it was buried so deeply he was hardly aware of it, after his initial humiliation at the thought of Batman seeing the sex tape, his next biggest concern had been Gordon, and he'd felt…well, he'd never had a father to disappoint, but if he did and had, he imagined it would have felt something like that. "Suppose," he said, hastily changing the subject, "that Dent does break out. What happens then? What if he's still angry and wants to fight?"

"What, I can't hold my own against an unarmed, grief-wracked man? If he does break out, he gets to choose between coming with us in our glorious fight against Batman or going on his own merry way."

_Well, he'd better choose the second option, _Jonathan thought with a surge of jealously. He wasn't interested in playing the other woman to both a freak dressed as a bat and an ex-lawyer. "How do you know Batman will come? He hasn't shown up for any of your other stunts, not even the massive one this morning. What if he's just decided to ignore you?"

"He _hasn't_," Joker said fiercely, and Jonathan flinched. The clown went on, speaking rapidly and with determination, as though he needed to convince himself as he persuaded Jonathan. "The only reason he hasn't been around yet is because he hasn't got enough evidence. Thanks to his damn 'taking the blame' stunt, he can't get to the crime scenes until after the police have stomped through 'em and ruined everything, and that's the only reason he hasn't tracked us down by now. You missed it, but on the news they mentioned one car carrying bodies to the morgue departed from Gotham General with six corpses and arrived with only five. Know what that means? He's got a body, and he's testing the chemicals in it. Wouldn't be surprised if he's already got an antidote."

_Oh, hooray. _"We've been on the news then?"

"Yep." Joker relaxed visibly, stretching out on the bed. "Mostly they've just been sobbing over all the deaths, and how terrible it is, and recapping all our other crimes. There was talk on the sexing though, but of course they didn't show it. They did call in some bullshit pop psychologist on what such a relationship could mean mentally, and they focused it on you, mostly, probably because they've got nothing on my upbringing or history of relationships or anything."

"Lovely." As if the situation wasn't irritating enough, now he had some psych pop tart with the gall to think she could possibly understand his motivations? God, he wanted to kill someone. Or at least a good poisoning.

Joker sat up beside him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. It was surprisingly gentle, almost like a normal boyfriend. "Don't be so sad, scaredy cat. It's okay, I don't think you're only with me 'cause you were 'lacking a male authority figure growing up', and sought me out to 'fulfill your desire for a role model' or whatever the hell they were going on about."

"Sorry." But he must have still been frowning, because Joker took hold of his shoulders, gently, and lay him back on the bed.

"Want me to make it up to you?"

He nodded, a shy smile spreading across his face. It was stunning really, how far he'd come, from hating the Joker's touch mere weeks ago to letting himself be groped. He closed his eyes as the Joker slowly pushed his legs apart, placing a hand on Jonathan's thigh that moved up, slowly, into the fabric of the boxers, and then, slowly but unexpectedly, inside him.

His eyes were open at once, legs stiffening. "I—what are you—ow!"

"Shh." Joker's other hand was on his shoulder, pushing him back down, stroking his skin. "Shh shh shh. _Relax_, honey. It'll hurt if you're tense."

"It hurts now!" He winced, trying to relax and failing, legs shaking. "Why are you doing that?"

"Do you ever wanna lose your virginity? 'Cause if you do, you're gonna have to loosen up a little, pun intended. It may be uncomfortable as fuck now, but give it a minute, okay?"

"I'd rather not," he muttered, face flushing, trying not to wince or pull away. "My insides hurt."

"It always hurts the first time." He knelt down, touching their lips together. "It'll hurt less if you calm down."

"And I'm not a virgin." He wanted nothing more than to smother himself with the nearest pillow and die. "We've had sex, remember?"

"What, the blow job?" Joker asked, moving in him with uncharacteristic slowness. "That doesn't count."

"Of course it does! Why do you think it's called 'oral sex'?"

"Oh, technicalities." He slid a second finger inside, making Jonathan groan, eyes watering, teeth clenched.

"Ow, ow, ow."

Joker paused, glancing down at his lover, expression tinged with both concern and amusement. "Do you want me to stop?"

What was the point? They'd just end up doing this again sometime. "No, go on."

"You sure?"

"Please don't ask me that," he moaned, eyes shut.

"It feels good after a while. I swear." Joker kissed him again, this time on the forehead, and the two fell silent.

After a while it did start to not hurt. Whether body heat had melted away the friction or he'd simply adjusted, Jonathan wasn't sure. Either way, he didn't get to the good part, because just as he was beginning to feel what he thought might be pleasure, there was a knock on the door.

"Boss?" Knox asked, as Joker pulled his hand free, Jonathan pulling the boxers back down to cover himself. "I've got the stuff you wanted."

"All right, come on in." From inside the vest he pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer, pouring it over his hands.

"Stuff?" Jonathan asked, as Knox entered the room, shopping bags in hand.

"For tonight," Joker said, rooting through one of the bags, knife flashing as he cut off what appeared to be tags.

He blinked. "What's tonight?"

"Attack on Arkham. Hello, what have we been talking about?"

"That's tonight?" His stomach shifted uneasily. "Isn't that sort of…quickly to be coming up with plans?"

"For me?" Joker giggled. "It's downright slow. Here, try this on."

"Try _what _o—" he began, apprehensive, and something was dropped onto his head. He pulled it off, eyes widening at the texture he felt, and stared, perplexed, at the long, blonde wig in his hand. "What the hell is this?"

"It's our way into Arkham." The Joker took the wig from his hands, placing it back on his head, over his hair. He smiled. "You look good blond, kitten."

Realization struck him like a Batarang to the face. "No." He reached up and pulled it off. "No, no, no. I am not dressing up as a lady."

His companion snorted. "'Lady'? God, I love the way you talk. It's so uptight."

"I'm serious," he protested, over the Joker's laughter. "I don't want to look like a girl."

"Hate to break it to you, darling, but you _already_ look like a girl. This is just enhancing what's there to start with."

"No."

Joker sighed, taking hold of his hand. "Look, you won't be the only one, all right? I'm going in drag too."

Jonathan glared, and tried tugging his hand free, to no avail. "First of all, you look nothing like a woman. And secondly, why do we have to dress in drag in the first place? Why can't we just run in there and start the massacre, like we did in the hospital? How can dressing like women possibly be to our advantage?"

"Calm down." Joker moved his hands from Jonathan's wrists to his shoulders, massaging his neck. "I don't want start slaughtering and releasing the inmates right off the bat. Much as I love chaos, there's a time and a place, and too great a chance of something keeping us from getting to Harvey. So we're gonna get to his cell before we start the rest of the crap, and no one's gonna interfere with us…" he reached into another of the bags, pulling out a white cotton dress, "'cause we'll be nurses."

"You're out of your mind," Jonathan said, eyes threatening to fall out of his head if they widened anymore.

"Trust me, okay? It'll be fine."

"Nurses don't even dress that way anymore!"

He shrugged. "Didn't stop me from getting through Gotham General like that. Really, as long as you move with a purpose and act like you know what you're doing, no one questions you."

"No." He crossed his arms, turning his head.

"What, is this dragging up all sorts of unpleasant memories about being called a faggot in school or something? Look, Jonny, I'm not gonna think any differently of you, or lose respect for you just 'cause I've seen you in tights."

He went rigid again. "I am not wearing tights."

"Uh, yeah you are, or I'm gonna be really annoyed that I shaved your legs for nothing."

"You _what_?" Jonathan demanded, bolting upright and staring at his legs. "When did you _do _that?"

"When you fell asleep in the shower. I waxed your eyebrows too. Look, you don't want all my hard work to go to waste, do you?"

_I feel so violated, _his thought, running a finger over his suddenly curved brows. "It's not going to work, you fool. We'd need pass keys to get in."

"Thought of that," Joker said, pulling two laminated cards from the bag holding the dresses. "I've kept a watch on Arkham, see, I know who works there and where they live. There are two nurses that, uh, won't be coming into work tonight, 'cause we'll be in their place."

"And the guards will know we aren't them!"

"I said I kept a watch, didn't I? The guard on shift for the front desk tonight, it's his third day there. He won't know us from Adam, so he won't be able to tell we're imposters. And it's not like there's a photo ID on the pass keys or anything."

He must have looked every bit as unconvinced as he felt, because the Joker leaned in, kissing him softly at the temple, then gently biting his ear. "Look, if you do this for me, I'll make it worth your while when we get back. And if you don't wanna do it willing," he paused, biting a little harder this time. "I can still make you do it."

Jonathan held in a sigh. "Fine. But I'm not going in a blonde wig. That's creepy, it's like you're trying to turn me into Harley." _Harley, _he thought, suddenly brightening. Harley would be at the hospital. Seeing her again, after all this time, that would almost make up for the indignity of it all. Though if she'd seen the news lately…his heart sunk, butterflies in his stomach. _Oh, hell. _Maybe it wouldn't be such a happy reunion after all.

Joker nodded, pulling another wig from the bag, this one with tightly wound curls the same dark shade as Jonathan's own hair. "Thought you might object to that, so I brought options. I get to be the redhead, though," he added, pulling out his own wig and sliding it on. "That's not negotiable."

Jonathan stared. The sight of Joker with flipped out, bright red hair was remarkable, to say the least. "What difference does it make?"

"It fits my personality. I'd say I'm a firecrotch at heart, wouldn't you?"

"I'm not sure Nigma and Isley would be flattered by the comparison," he muttered, thinking of Arkham's redheaded inmates as he pulled on the wig. "Is this on straight?"

"Not quite, I'll fix it for you in a second. First, though," Joker took him by the back of the head, a pencil suddenly centimeters from his eye. "Here, try not to blink?"

"What the hell is that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. If there was one person he did not want near his eyes with a pencil, it would be the Joker. He'd never heard of turning something so harmless into a weapon, but if anyone could find a way, it would be the clown.

"Eye liner. You're going as a girl, remember?" Joker asked, running the pencil around Jonathan's eye.

He fought back a shudder. "Why do I have to wear makeup?"

"'Cause you're gonna be the one doing the talking for us, should we get stopped, and you're the one the illusion's more convincing on. Sorry, but you've got more ladylike bone structure, and you're smaller. I hope you do a good girl voice."

_My dignity will never survive this, _he thought, as Joker dropped the pencil and picked up the mascara. Not that he had much dignity left, not anymore. "I'm not wearing bright red lipstick."

"Well, of course not. It wouldn't go well with your complexion at all, and besides, only whores wear it, myself excluded. You, kitten, are a lady."

"Ah." He tried not to blink. "I see. Thank you so much, kind sir, for protecting my modesty. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Have a boring life, that's for sure. Now hand me the blush."

* * *

AN: It had to be done. I'm sorry, but it did. Seriously, Google Image 'Breakfast on Pluto' if you haven't seen it, and just try telling me Mr. Murphy wasn't born to dress as a woman. And since he is how I picture Scarecrow (though I prefer Tim Sale's Scarecrow costume to the movie's) so is Jonathan.

Big Rock Candy Mountains is a favorite song of mine, and I found the lyrics about the jail weirdly appropriate for Arkham. Seriously, that place has the worst security ever. Also, "firecrotch" is my second favorite term ever for redheads, besides "ginger." And yes, I'm allowed to say ginger, having red hair myself. (I'm not offended when others say it, though some, like my brother, are.)

Jim Gordon is one of the ultimate father figures to me, and I imagine that each time in the comics/cartoon when a villain reformed, Gordon (and Batman as well) genuinely hoped they stayed well, regardless of their past actions. I think the villains pick up on that empathy, if only subconsciously. Not that it stops Jim and his family from being targets. Actually, that may add to it, some of the Rogues probably don't want to be pitied.

I'm not sure where the sex bit in this chapter came from, though after writing this, I noticed I've sort of weirdly paralleled their romantic relationship with the physical one; both can be pleasurable but are still tense, with unexpected developments (usually on the Joker's behalf) that tend to get interrupted or altered once things are developing a pattern. And it may be my asexual inexperience here, but I imagine such an act would be rather uncomfortable the first time, or a shock to the system at least. Whenever I read slash where the first time goes off without a hitch, it makes me question how realistic what I'm reading is.

I don't care if nurses don't dress that way anymore, it looks awesome and I applaud the Joker for going with the old school outfit in TDK.


	33. Gone With the Wind

AN: Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"Don't sit like that." Joker reached over from the driver's seat and slapped Jonathan's leg, nearly steering the car off the road. "Girls don't sit that way."

"What does it matter how I'm sitting now?" Jonathan asked, shifting away. "It's not as if there's anyone around to fool." He supposed the ride would go much more smoothly if he just went along with it, but the day had been long enough, between the tape, the blood, the makeup, and being made to march up and down the hall in a dress and tights until Joker was satisfied that his movements were convincingly feminine.

"It's the principle of the thing, Jonny. If you don't keep up appearances now, you might forget it when it matters." He shot a scrutinizing glance at his companion, the second he took his eyes off the road being almost enough to veer them into the opposite traffic.

"Watch it!" Jonathan grabbed the arm rests of his seat, almost tight enough to rip them off. It wasn't death he feared, so much as the humiliation of his body being discovered in a dress, with lipstick. "You're going to get us pulled over."

Joker merely shrugged off their near death experience, though he did mutter several death threats in response to the shouts of their would-be victim. Once he was through with that, he gave Jonathan another glance, keeping his hands on the steering wheel this time. "Take off your glasses."

"I need them to see!" he protested. This was becoming too much. If he was going to run about in a dress, he at least wanted the ability to see where he was running.

"Yeah? Well, they put a barrier between your eyes and the rest of the world, and since your eyes are the most girly thing about you, we can't have that. Take 'em off."

"No."

"Kitten," he said, his tone warning. "I can take 'em and throw 'em out the window if you won't do this willingly."

_And here I thought relationships were about compromise. _Whatever. It wasn't worth the argument, not when there were so many more pressing concerns to be addressed. He pulled off his glasses, folding them and shoving them in the purse Joker had given him, alongside the video camera. "I need a knife. Or a gun. Something."

"You've got the laughing gas," Joker said, as if explaining things to an overly demanding child. "Tell me, Jonny, what's the point in having that stuff if you never wanna use it?"

Oh, if there was one thing he hated, it was being spoken down to. Gritting his teeth and trying to kept his voice steady, he retorted. "You don't get it. The toxin doesn't work the same way on everyone, and it works by affecting chemicals in the brain. In mental patients—like the ones that could attack us tonight, if they don't like us or take issue with being released, for some reason—when the brain chemistry is already altered by drugs or illness, there's a greater chance of the stuff not working at all, or provoking a different, possibly violent response."

"Ah." There was a pause in which Joker shuffled through the pockets of his nurse's dress, before pulling out a butterfly knife and handing it to Jonathan, who slipped it into his own pocket. "You know, you really oughta mention that sort of thing before I set the plans into motion, scaredy cat."

"Maybe if you gave me more than five minutes' warning before you started your plans, I'd remember to mention it."

"Hey now. You had an hour's warning at least."

An hour that had been entirely spent getting tarted up for this ridiculous idea, he did not say. "You do know that the police will show up, don't you? They're not about to let the Batman through with no trouble just so you can be reunited."

"No they won't, we're cutting the phone lines."

Unbelievable. How any of the fool's plans managed to succeed was beyond Jonathan. "Have you ever heard of cell phones?"

"Look, the police are going be a _little _busy while we're breaking in. I've made sure of that."

Jonathan felt a combination of excitement and dread. "What did you do?"

"Nothing major. I just happen to have a lotta bombs in various buildings around the city, and once we're inside Arkham, my men are gonna set 'em off."

_Inelegant, but effective. _"Here's a question: if you hate the GPD's interference so much, why don't you just blow up the police station?"

"Where's the fun in that? There's gotta be some kinda challenge, Jonny, or there's no point in trying at all."

_But there's less chance of death. _They rode on in silence for a few minutes, before what seemed like a rather gaping plot hole occurred to Jonathan. "Wait a second, if you've caused havoc all over town, how can you guarantee the Batman will come to Arkham?"

"Because of Harvey Dent, obviously. When Batsy's little police scanner or whatever he uses tells him the Joker's attacking Arkham, he'll drop whatever victims he was escorting to safety and come running. Plus, I had my boys steal a floodlight and put in on the roof."

Jonathan tilted his head. "A floodlight?"

"We've converted it into a Batsignal."

He nearly laughed, before he remembered what tended to happen on his run-ins with the Bat and shuddered. "He's going to be so angry."

"I know, right?" Joker said, sounding nauseatingly cheerful. "It's gonna be so much fun."

"Maybe for you. Not all of us enjoy pain."

Joker reached across the space between them and took Jonathan by the hand. "C'mon, kitten, I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the last time we worked together and Batman arrived, didn't I end up in traction?"

"I wasn't in the room at the time, was I?" He stopped holding Jonathan's hand and slid his own to the side, linking their little fingers together. "Look, I promise I won't let the big scary bat get you if I'm around to put a stop to it."

As the Joker had an attention span of about five seconds and was liable to wander out of the room in the middle of a fight because he'd seen something shiny, that wasn't as comforting as it should have been. It did help, though. "Okay."

"We're here." He put the van in park, and Jonathan looked around the asylum's parking lot, with a growing feeling of unease. Being back here brought up all sorts of unpleasant memories, not to mention a reminder of how easy it would be to get caught.

"We're half an hour early," he said, tapping the clock on the dash. "The nurses whose pass keys we stole, their shift doesn't start until six, right?"

"Yeah." He pulled the keys from the ignition, shoving them in the dress's pocket. "So, whaddya wanna do for the next half hour?"

_Try and talk you out of this?_ Yeah, like that was going to happen. And maybe he really was worrying too much. After all, none of the Joker's other plans had gotten them killed, and they'd all been insane. Then again, none of their other plans had been so certain to bring Bat-wrath upon them. He shrugged.

"You know," Joker said, glancing around the vehicle's interior. "We're switching this out for a different car when we make our escape. So this was the last ride in our faithful van."

Jonathan arched a styled brow. "So what?"

"So," he said, as he unfastened his seatbelt and leaned toward his companion, "whaddya say we make some memories here?"

"You cannot be serious." He leaned away, back pressing into the door. "I'm not having sex like this!"

"Like what?"

"In a van!" The Joker really had no sense of romance. Or tact. "Can you not see the thousand and one things wrong with this?"

"Ah." He straightened up, disappointed. "What, you want your first time to be on satin sheets covered with rose petals or something? I guess I could do that, but it's gonna have to be after this particular—"

"First, I've already had a first time, and second, no, I'd just rather it not be in a van. Besides, people could see us, you idiot."

"The windows are tinted." His tone suggested that made the idea perfectly acceptable.

"No! Absolutely not." _This is what my life has become. Fantastic. _"Anyway," he added, as the Joker still had that look in his eye. "We've only got half an hour. There'd be no time to do foreplay or anything."

"Sooo…" and the Joker was back on him, dragging him out of the passenger seat and toward the back. "Do you just wanna do the foreplay? I never finished earlier."

"Shouldn't we be focusing on your grand scheme?" he pleaded, knowing it was a losing battle but unable to just surrender.

"Grand schemes are extremely erotic."

"But the makeup, and the wig, and the—"

"Here." Joker took hold of his long dark curls and pulled them off. "I'll put it back in a minute, and that way it won't get all tangled, okay? Problem solved." He gave the hair in his hand an almost forlorn glance. "Though you do look really pretty with long hair. It reminds me of Scarlett O'Hara."

"I look nothing like Scarlett O'Hara," he said, confusion overshadowing panic for a moment. "And neither did my hair."

"Not lookwise, exactly. But in terms of personality, come on. You're both cunning, with horrible control of your tempers, and able to manipulate everyone except for the man you love, who can see right through your little schemes."

"What, so you're Rhett Butler?" Jonathan snorted. "He's a little too…put together for you, wouldn't you say?"

"Excuse me if I'm not obsessive about showering. C'mon, if I walked around a la Bruce Wayne, with nary a hair out of place, I'd be _so_ boooring. Now, don't freak out on me, all right?" His hand was on Jonathan's thigh again, right where the tights ended, trailing up the skin. It felt cold this time, as though he'd lubricated his fingers with something, but as to what, Jonathan had no idea. Unless it was the hand sanitizer, and he sincerely hoped it wasn't, shuddering at the thought of the alcohol burn.

"Wait!" he said, tensing.

"Yes?"

"You…you look like a girl." _Oh, well spotted, Jonathan._

"What's your point? Don'tcha think I'm pretty?"

"Well, yes, but…" What was he supposed to say, 'it makes you look submissive and I prefer you dominant'? No, that was idiotic. It was hard enough to admit to himself he didn't mind not being the one in power for once, never mind trying to explain it to another. Besides, that was dangerously close to saying he felt secure around him, and he wasn't about to make that mistake again. "I like you more as a boy."

"Fine." He pulled his own wig off, brushing out his hair one-handed as the other hand went back to advancing up Jonathan's body. "Happy now?"

"Ye—_ow_, ow, ow. Yes," he muttered, eyes shut. "And when this starts to feel good, it had better be worth it."

* * *

"So," Joker said, glancing in the rearview mirror as he rearranged the red wig, smirking. "Was that worth it?"

Jonathan, who wasn't sure if he'd fully regained the ability to speak, nodded vigorously from the floor, burying his hair under his own wig.

"Thought so." He grinned in a way that made Jonathan wanted to slap and kiss him at the same time. "C'mon, we're gonna be late." He stepped through the door, straightened his skirt, then helped Jonathan through. "You can walk, right?"

"Yes," he said, blushing furiously as they started moving.

"Good." Reaching into the pocket of the dress, he pulled out a surgical mask, slipping it over his ears. "Let's go."

"What's that for?"

"To hide the scars, obviously."

"But there aren't surgeons in Arkham."

"You don't have to be a surgeon to wear a mask, genius. You could just have a cold you're trying not to spread."

"Well, it's going to draw attention. Along with the dresses. Remind me why we couldn't have worn normal nurse clothing again?"

"Because it's boring."

"You know, that's not always a bad thing. In fact, in some cases I'd say it—"

"Excuse me, miss?"

The pair froze at the voice from behind them, Jonathan turning his head slowly to see an orderly staring at them. _Oh hell. We're dead. We're fucked. That's it, it's over, we've been found out. And not even in an exciting way, no police, no Batman, just an observant guard. Fantastic, bloody fantastic—_

Joker elbowed him in the ribs, which he took as an indication that he'd be the one doing the talking. And it occurred to him that he'd never tried imitating a woman's voice before. _Oh hell. _Well, there was nothing like desperation as motivation. "Yes, sir?"

Beside him, the Joker blinked, and Jonathan felt himself do the same. It wasn't the voice—it was a passable mimic of a woman's, at least, he thought so—but the accent. He'd unconsciously imitated his mother's voice, right down to the accent. That was unexpected.

The orderly seemed to think nothing odd about it, however, as he only held out Jonathan's glasses, holding them by one of the ends. "I think this fell out of your purse."

"Oh," he said, with entirely unfeigned relief. "Don't know what I'd do without those. Thank you." Taking his glasses, he slid them back into the purse, deeply, as the orderly gave a 'you're welcome,' and turned, walking away into the parking lot. He must be heading home. _Well, that could have been worse._

He raised his head to find the Joker staring at him, brows furrowed. "What was that?"

Jonathan held in a sigh. If there was one thing he didn't want to discuss, it would be his past. "That was Georgia."

"And Lady Jonathan is Georgian why, exactly? Is this because I mentioned Scarlett O'Hara?"

"No. I don't know. I grew up in Georgia." He started walking toward the asylum again, wondering what the odds were that the discussion would end here. Probably very low.

"So, why didya come up here?" Extremely low.

"Because I got a full ride to Gotham University."

"So your family's back in Georgia?"

"Actually, my mother's in Gotham. The man she married lives here, they met when he was in Georgia visiting family." Lovely. Now the clown knew he had relatives around. He wouldn't be surprised if Joker designed some mad scheme to meet his boyfriend's parents.

"Why don't you have an accent, then?"

"Because I taught myself to enunciate," he muttered, stepping through the doors.

To his never-ceasing astonishment, no one gave them so much as a second glance as they made their way inside. In fact, once they'd swiped the keys, the doors were held open for them, one by a doctor, and one by another orderly.

"Thanks, y'all," Jonathan said over his shoulder as they walked off, dumbfounded.

"Jew knooow," Joker said, stretching out the vowels in a mockery of Jonathan's own accent. "I think jew might sound a liddle more like Paula Dean than O'Hara."

"Make fun of how I talk again, sugar, and I'll rip off your balls and make you eat 'em," he said brightly, still as a woman, though the hall was mostly empty.

It was also, he noted with surprise, not the way to his old cell. "Where are we going? I thought you wanted to see Harvey Dent."

"Patience, kitten," Joker said, pulling out his pass key and pausing at a door. "There's another old friend we need to see first."

_Harley, _he thought, both eager and heartbroken as Joker opened the door and stepped inside.

* * *

AN: As far as I know in the comics, Jonathan's mother didn't leave Georgia. I don't know, I like the idea of having her nearby should I ever want to include her, and it's not the first liberty I've taken with his backstory.

I imagine Jonathan's girl voice as very close to Cillian Murphy's, but with a Georgian accent instead of an Irish one.

The fear gas/laughing gas, I think, is trial and error. No two people react in the exact same way and it certainly isn't foolproof.


	34. The Other Woman

AN: Most awkward situation ever, this chapter. I've never been in such a situation (thankfully) so I hope it's realistic. Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

He stood frozen in place, holding the door just barely open, eyes focused on the floor. A passing orderly gave him an odd look, and he found himself almost hoping he'd be recognized. At least that way, he'd have someone to take down, an excuse not to go in. Much to his dismay, however, the orderly merely looked in the other direction and went on his merry way. _Damn it._ Through the door he heard murmurs that he eventually realized were words, and right when he tried focusing on the words, they were interrupted with a sound that could only be a slap.

"Okay, I deserved that," he heard Joker say.

"You think?"

Ah. So she'd definitely seen the newscasts then. _Hell. _He stood, knowing he should go in but dreading it. It was the same feeling he'd gotten when he was young, walking home from school with his clothes all ripped up thanks to the other kids in his class, knowing that would lead to a lecture from his grandmother on taking care of his things. Lecture meaning beating. This, though…unlike in his childhood, this was entirely his fault. _You started a relationship with your best friend's boyfriend, and pressure or not, you agreed to it of your own free will. So go in there, own up to it, and take it like a man._ Easier said than done, though. Harley may be sweet and loving if one was on her good side, but make her angry and all bets were off. Insides twisted, he shuddered and opened the door the rest of the way, stepping inside.

Immediately he was struck in the forehead with something and sent staggering backwards, more out of shock than pain. He heard whatever it was that had hit him fall to the floor, and looked down to see a shoe rolling over across the linoleum. _Well, that's not a good start, _he thought, colliding against the wall.

"We're talkin' here!" Harley shouted, as Jonathan turned to face her. They stared at each other for a second, Harley looking furious, Jonathan's expression a mix of apprehension and regret, until there was a flash of recognition in Harley's eyes. "Jonathan?"

She took a step forward and he flinched. "All right, you had every right to do that. But please don't do it ag—" _Wait, _he decided, _I'm probably in no position to make requests. _"Actually, never mind. Hit me as much as you want."

For some incomprehensible reason, that statement made her eyes fill with tears. Or perhaps she'd already been crying; her face looked red enough. "Harley? Wait, don't cry, I take it back, you don't have to hit me. I'm sorry, I…" he trailed off as she put her face in her hands, sobbing.

"Er…Jonny?" Joker muttered, for once showing some since of tact. "Maybe you better leave the talking up to me."

"I'd rather hear from him!" she shouted, lowering her hands but still facing the floor. "At least he wasn't my boyfriend when you slept together!" And then she was sobbing again. Damn anatomy and the ability to leak water from one's eyes. All it did was make bad situations even worse.

"Don't blame this on him entirely." He felt compelled to defend the Joker, God only knew why. "He didn't force me into this. I'm every bit as guilty as he is."

"And, uh…" For the first time he saw the Joker look unsure, hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet like a child in the principal's office. Whether or not it was genuine, he couldn't be sure. "Technically, we never had 'sex' sex."

"Really?" She raised her head, looking angry and hurt as ever. "And that makes it all okay?"

"No, of course no—"

"What did you do, exactly?"

"A blow job. And a hand job. And fingering, twice."

"And the hugging and kissing and holding hands," Jonathan muttered, wishing more than ever that he'd never let the clown break him out in the first place. What in the name of God had he been thinking, allowing this to happen? Some friend he was. He wouldn't be surprised if she never spoke to him again. Certainly, she'd be justified.

Harley put her hands over her face again and wailed. Jonathan moved toward her, but Joker grabbed his arm and pulled him back, with a shake of his head. He was probably right. It was incredibly unlikely that Harley would want him anywhere near him at the moment, and the closer his proximity, the more upset she may become. Still, watching her sob like that was heartbreaking. _I am a bastard. A heartless, selfish, stupid bastard. What did she ever do to deserve a 'friend' like me?_

"_Why_?" she managed, between sobs.

They opened their mouths to speak, Joker getting the words out first. "I don't know. It started as a business thing, you know, I only broke him out so he could make the laughing gas…"

_Well, that's entirely untrue, _he thought, remembering the way the flirting had been there from the second day onwards. Still, he didn't interrupt. What would be worse, the white lie or the admission that Joker had been unfaithful from the start? He honestly had no idea. Would she even believe him, if he told her the truth? She'd always defended the Joker's positions last time the three were together, and this little incident surely wouldn't have done much to up his credibility. Who was met with more hatred, the cheater or the other woman? He had no idea, and wished he'd never made the choices that had put him in the position to find out.

"…and one thing led to another. It…it just happened, Harley-girl."

"It didn't just happen! These things don't just happen, there has to be something…something wrong." She sniffed, wiping tears from her cheeks that were replaced seconds later. "What did I do wrong? What did he give you that I didn't?"

"Nothing, Harl, nothing. I swear." Joker was behind her then, hands on her shoulders, leading her to sit on the bed. "You didn't do anything wrong, I promise. You don't have to feel guilty. If anyone should, it's me. You're perfect. It's just…you weren't there—also my fault," he added, before she could start beating herself up again. "And I was stupid."

"God, Harley, I'm sorry." Jonathan couldn't tell if this was one of those situations where he should shut up and wait for them to finish, or what. "I've been such an idiot. I didn't even think of how it would hurt you. God, I'm so sorry."

"Well, you should be!" she shouted, though it sounded more pained than outraged. "The both of you!"

"We are," the Joker assured her, sounded oddly sincere for a person Jonathan doubted had ever felt remorse.

"You—you couldn't even tell me yourselves!" she sobbed, head dropping again. "I h-had to find out off the news, and act like I was fine, with Pam and E-Eddie and everybody else feeling sorry for me, and half the asylum laughing behind my back. Do you have any idea how much it hurt?"

"I'm sorry, Harl. Really, I am. But that's why we came here, to set things right."

Harley raised her head, looking as dumbfounded as Jonathan felt. "What do you mean?"

Jonathan felt it best to remain silent. He'd done enough to hurt her already; if the Joker wanted to carry on lying, fine, but he wasn't about to take part in it.

"We came here to apologize. All right, so it's part of a scheme too, but we did want to apologize," he said in that same sincere tone. "I mean, we may be stupid, selfish bastards, but we're not heartless, stupid, selfish bastards. We were going to tell you, and we never meant for you to find out the way you did—"

"What, you didn't realize there were security cameras?" she snapped, face darkening. "Oh, yeah right."

"No, no, no, that's _not _what I meant. The camera stuff…that wasn't about flaunting our rela…our…you know. It was about drawing out Batman."

"What, through sex?" Harley demanded, looking almost more angry than upset now. "Come _on, _even you're not stupid enough to think that could ever work!"

"Actually, that was my idea." Jonathan muttered, wishing America had some form of ritual suicide he could commit as penance for his transgressions. Certainly it would be better than watching his best friend go through this. "Not one of my smarter ones."

"Obviously!" Harley looked as if she was sorely tempted to take off her other shoe and throw it at him.

"Okay, okay. Look," Joker took hold of her hands, ignoring the way she pulled back. "Let's not dwell on that, all right? It happened, and it was stupid, and we never meant for it to hurt you, but obviously, it did. The real question is, where do we go from here?"

"Do you love him?" Harley demanded, wrenching her hands free.

"I…I love you both."

And she was sobbing all over again. Jonathan got the sense that this was one of those times when he should _really _keep quiet, but found himself speaking anyway. "Harley, you can have the Joker. Really, you can. I don't want to come between you, and he's _your _boyfriend, and—" She appeared to be crying harder than ever, shoulders shaking. _Oh, shit. _"I mean, not that I think that excuses what I've done. I've betrayed your trust, and that's unacceptable, but I don't want to be any more of a home wrecker than I already am—"

"You idiot," she said, lifting her head, and he realized she'd been laughing. Still crying, yes, but laughing. Though he wasn't sure if emotionless laughing was any better than sobbing. "Did you seriously just say 'I can have the Joker'? What, like he's a doll or something? You really have no idea how relationships or emotions work, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

"Well, you should be." She straightened up, wiping her eyes. "Both of you. And you're damn lucky I care about you guys so much, or I wouldn't even have let you through the door."

Jonathan doubted she could have stopped the Joker for so much as a minute, but was far too relieved that she'd stopped wailing to argue. "We don't deserve it."

"No, you don't," she said flatly. "But you're right, I don't want this to ruin everything we've had."

A silence fell between the three, the minutes dragging on like hours. Just when the force of the quiet seemed crushingly strong, Jonathan heard an odd, unscrewing sound and jerked his head up.

Joker had pulled a container of face paint from his pocket and was spreading it across his face. Feeling the others' gaze on him, he lowered his hand. "Oh. Sorry, just wanted to have my face on by the time Bats showed up."

"Batman's coming here?" Harley said, sounding depressed, annoyed, and amused all at once.

"Yeah." Joker kicked his feet back and forth, making the bed sheets flutter. "So…uh…where do we go from here?"

"God, who knows?" She toyed with the end of one of her pigtails, shoulders slumped. "It'll take a long time to get things back the way they used to be, if ever, that's for sure. I mean, you violated my trust. Both of you. I can't just forget that."

"We're not asking you to," they said together.

"Good." She stood, retrieving her shoe from the floor and slipping it back on. "Right, what do you say we call a truce, for the time being, seeing as how the Bat's apparently on his way? Whatever you've got planned, it sounds big, if you managed to draw him out."

"Wanna help us?" Joker asked, his voice a perfectly sweet, reassuring mix of excitement and nervousness. Jonathan wondered how much of it was feigned, though most of his head was still spinning at how fast Harley seemed to have gone from heartbroken to just hurt. Was it because she'd had time to brood since the first news report, and had simply exhausted the heartache away, or was the Joker just that skilled of a manipulator?

She sighed. "All right. But this isn't over, got it? Not by a long shot. Once we're out of here, there's a lot of talking to do, understand?"

"Of course." Joker stood beside her, kissing her on the forehead, gently as an older brother. "And for what it's worth, I really am sorry."

"Me too," Jonathan said, knowing it sounded incredibly juvenile but unable to come up with anything else to say.

"I know. That doesn't make it hurt less."

"Of course not," Joker said softly, pressing his pass key into her hand. "Here's the plan, if you're still up for it. You get into the guards' station with the key, and if anyone tries to stop you, use this—" from the pocket of his dress he pulled out a gun. "Then open all the cell doors from there, and head straight into the parking lot, all right? I don't want you to get hurt. We need a getaway car, so pick anything you want, and stay by it. We'll be out as soon as we're through to meet you." He paused, tongue pushing against his scars. "We can stop at that ice cream place you like on the way back, if you want."

She rolled her eyes. "You're bribing me with _ice cream_ now? Honestly." But a good deal of the venom had gone from her voice. "What are you two up to, anyway?"

"Harvey Dent's here. We're letting him out."

"I'm filming it," Jonathan added, pulling the camera from his bag.

Her jaw dropped. "Harvey's _here_?"

"Yep. All part of some crazy, Big Brother scheme the GPD put together. It's a funny world we live in, huh?"

"But how—"

"All will be explained," Joker said, kissing her on the cheek. "But we're running out of time."

"Right." She walked to the door, swiping herself out. "Good luck."

"You too, puddin'," Joker said, maintaining a solemn expression until she disappeared, then grinning as he resumed applying his makeup. "Well, that went fairly well, wouldn't you say?"

"You manipulative bastard," Jonathan said, disgusted.

"What? Look, I really do regret the situation, all right? But what happened happened, and we can't change it, so there's no use in dwelling on it. And that really could have gone worse. C'mon." Spreading on lipstick with one hand, he took hold of Jonathan's wrist with the other and made for the door.

_What have I gotten myself into?_ he wondered, that all-too-familiar sinking feeling in his stomach again. The way he'd manipulated Harley…how easy it had been…had he been doing that to Jonathan all along, as well? How much was really between them, and how much was a lie? And which parts had been lies? When he'd told Harley he loved the both of them, what had that been? He found himself thinking of his mother, though he wasn't sure why. All the terrible men she'd been with, the way she'd forgive them for any deed, no matter how bad, it seemed, without so much as a second thought if they said the right words? He'd always despised his mother, for the relationships and her lack of concern for him and everything else, but was he becoming like her without realizing it? The accent from earlier, the imitation of her voice…he wondered now if that had been some sort of Freudian slip, his subconscious warning him to watch out.

And then he noticed that the halls were completely empty, and stopped wondering about anything but that. "Where are all the employees?" Had the Joker's men started a massacre already? He'd thought they were the only ones here, except for the lackey operating the floodlight on the roof.

"Probably all glued to the news by now," Joker said, pulling him along briskly. "The bombs have gone off, the city's gotta be in chaos at this point."

He swallowed hard, nearly choking. "How long ago did they set off the bombs?"

"Eh…" Joker glanced at his watch. "'Bout ten minutes ago. Why?"

_Oh, fuck. _"Didn't your man on the roof turn on the signal at the same time they detonated the explosives?" he asked, steps quickening.

"Yep. So Batsy's probably almost here. Makes things way more exciting, huh?"

"_Shit_," Jonathan muttered, breaking into a run.


	35. Choices

AN: Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

"Turn the camera on," Joker ordered as they ran, casting glances over his shoulder down the hall, though Jonathan couldn't tell if he was watching for guards or the soon-to-be released inmates. "And gimme your pass key."

"Why?" he asked, glancing through the viewfinder as the camera flickered to life.

"'Cause I'm not coming in with you right away." He pulled the laughing gas from Jonathan's purse, sliding on the wrist strap. "This is supposed to be another massacre, remember? So, I'll do the massacring, and all you need to do is keep Harvey from leaving 'til I get there. And film it, of course."

"What?" Oh joy. He was about to be left in a room with a violent, depressed man who had every reason to hate the Joker and thus by association, Jonathan. The whole 'poisoning his girlfriend' thing probably wasn't going to help matters either. "Joker, I can't—"

"Sure you can." There was a knife glistening in his other hand now. "I have the utmost confidence in you. Make sure to get the good side of his face on tape, all right? And if you could get him to say his name, that would be fantastic."

"I nearly killed Rachel Dawes, you idiot. I don't think he'll be willing to cooperate with anything I suggest."

He waved the hand without a knife in it dismissively. "Oh, I'm sure he's over all the Rachel stuff by now."

"Doubtful," Jonathan muttered, envisioning all the ways this could lead to his slow, painful death.

"Well, look. If he's gonna be mad at anybody about her, it'll be me. I mean, you never blew her up." He stopped at a door which could only be Dent's, Jonathan realized with a sinking feeling, and swiped the key, pushing it open. "Now get in there."

"But I—"

"In!" He was pushed through. "Good luck, I'll be back in a minute."

_Hell. _With a last longing glance at the door, he turned to find Harvey Dent starting at him from the bed, good side of his face contorted with confusion. And it definitely was Dent; that became obvious now that he had a good look at the unmarred side of the man's face. He'd seen his picture often enough on campaign commercials—which ran so frequently he'd felt tempted to break the television in the rec room every time he heard 'I believe in Harvey Dent'—and he supposed he'd seen him in real life before, though that was harder to remember. His only clear memories of his trial were the same as any other memory on fear toxin; everything shaking, people oozing around like the spawn of Satan and Mrs. Butterworth, and the ever-attacking crows that he knew couldn't be real, but felt authentic nonetheless. For a second they stared at each other, before Crane remembered to focus the camera and decided to break the ice. "Er…hello."

Behind him, he heard the lock of the door click. Harley must have gotten into the guards' station.

Dent's good eye widened, looking more apprehensive, if anything. Jonathan supposed he'd come off as a woman until he spoke. Lovely. There was a first impression that would gain him all sorts of respect should this man join them. Which he doubted, but Joker seemed to think there was a good chance, and he'd learned not to discount things the Joker supposed. "Who are you?"

Crane was taken aback, slightly, by Dent's voice. He didn't recall the content of those campaign ads very well—he'd never been much for politics and tended to stop listening whenever someone brought it up—but he did remember Dent had a commanding presence, even in a recording. He'd always sounded so calm, self-assured, almost cocky. Now…well, there was confusion in his words, and something that wasn't quite fear but could become so, but overall there was a tone of overwhelming despondency, as though the man would like nothing more than to lay down and die right here and now. The effect the Joker had on people. He nearly shuddered.

"Um…" he said, upon realizing Dent was waiting for answer. "Dr. Jonathan Crane, I think we've met, haven't—" The other man bolted to his feet. _Oh hell. _He wished he'd thought to grab the knife from his purse before he came in; it was definitely too late now. If the sudden movement wouldn't be interpreted as a threat, the fact that he was retrieving a weapon definitely would. "Wait!" He held up the hand not holding the camera. "I'm not here to fight. The trial thing? I'm not angry about that. I don't even remember it, really."

Dent relaxed somewhat, though stayed guarded. He swallowed, and Crane watched with morbid fascination as the exposed muscles around his mouth clenched and relaxed. It was, in a disturbing way, fascinating to watch, like one of those medical mannequins whose heart and lungs really moved. Then he realized staring at Dent's deformity wasn't likely to get him on the man's good side, and turned his attention to the intact side of Dent's face. "What do you want, then?"

He sounded more depressed than ever, now. Had he been _hoping _to be attacked? Was he still heartbroken over Rachel Dawes, enough to wish for death? "To film this," he said honestly, lifting the camera. "Could you say your name, please?"

Dent stared at him as if _he _was the crazy one. "What?"

"Your name." From far off down the hall, he could hear screams. The Joker had gotten started, then. Well, at least one of them was making progress. He tried a different approach. "You are Harvey Dent, aren't you? Former district attorney of Gotham?"

"Yes," Dent said, looking lost as ever. Or at least, the part of his face that was still mobile did.

Success! That was nearly as good as getting him to say the name himself, anyway. And he was getting a clear enough shot of his face that identification would be easy. The news stations were going to have a field day with this. He supposed he might as well expose the entire conspiracy, while he waited for the Joker to arrive. "Aren't you supposed to be dead? They gave you a funeral."

"I know. I saw it." He could practically hear the gears in Dent's head turning. Certainly he could imagine his thoughts: 'Why is this psychotic in my cell? What does he want? And why is he filming this?' He didn't look as if he were about to try anything, though. At least, not until he had a better idea of what the hell was going on.

"They blamed your death on the Batman," Crane continued. "But clearly, you're still here. And I've heard tell about the other murders he's wanted for. They say it was really you."

"Who told you that?"

"A friend. Why, is it true?" Getting no response, he pushed harder. "That cop, you know, uh, Wuertz? They honored him as a hero, an honest cop fallen in the battle against evil. But…wasn't he the one that drove your lady friend to her doom?"

"_Don't _talk about her." Dent, now looking as if he wanted nothing more than to strangle the life out of Crane, took a step forward.

"Wait! I'm sorry, I won't bring that up again." Well, so much for getting a confession. Still, the fact that Dent was alive should let the public know that if the GPD had lied to them about Dent, they could well have lied about the other deaths.

"Good." Nearly all of the apprehension had gone from Dent's expression and stance. He supposed that once you knew all you had to do to make a super villain cower was talk to him in a harsh tone of voice and take a step forward, it was hard to be frightened. "Why are you here?"

"To get this on tape," he said, as innocently as possible. He didn't want his alliance with the Joker to come out, at least, not until it was unavoidable. Playing crazy could work to his advantage, making evading questions less suspicious. And maybe gain him sympathy. Hopefully there was a lesser chance of being beaten to death if he projected the air of a cross-dressing lunatic. "We're trying to clear the Batman's name, you see."

In retrospect, he wondered if mentioning the motive was unwise. He knew Batman had taken the blame to keep the citizens from losing faith, and if Dent still believed in Gotham, he might react violently to a plan to reveal the truth. _Shit. _Well, if he could just keep the camera safe until the Joker came in…easier said than done, probably.

But fate was on his side, it seemed, because Dent only stared. "'We'?"

Oh. _Oops. _Well, not responding was probably the best choice here. "The cops are all against him now, you know, and he can't come out and play anymore because of it. It's no fun without him."

"Fun," Dent repeated, voice flat. He seemed torn between shaking his head in disgust, and staring in disbelief.

Crane nodded, looking up at him with the most disarming, broken smile he could muster. Which was harder than it looked; there could only be a height difference of two inches or so between them. He'd always thought Dent was taller. Maybe it was just the air of confidence and power he'd projected that made it seem that way. "You didn't have fun, when you did it?"

He did shake his head, finally. "You're insane."

"He learned from the best," the Joker said, stepping inside. His wig was crooked and his dress splashed with blood, but he seemed uninjured.

"_Joker_," Dent growled, and in that moment Jonathan could see the power he'd once held, the man who had taken on the mob and laughed about it, walking through Gotham as though he wasn't worried he could be killed at any second. But there was a darkness there too; a vicious, vengeful side he must have kept hidden deep within when he was the DA. _The brighter the photo, the darker the negative. _He knew one thing; much like the Batman, Harvey Dent was not someone he'd want to encounter in an alley at night.

He'd never been so overcome with the desire to analyze someone before. Now wasn't the best time, though.

If the Joker was at all intimidated by Dent's rage, he didn't show it. "Joker?" he repeated, in mock surprise. "Really? Where?" He glanced around the room before looking down at himself. "Oh. So, Harvey, good to see you—"

He was slammed into the wall, lifted off the ground, Dent's hand around his throat. Jonathan watched, frozen with panic, and found himself wondering just how Dent's eye on the burnt side hadn't dried out, having no eyelid or tear ducts that he could see. Amazing, really, how inane his thoughts became in times of crisis.

Joker, for someone being strangled, looked remarkably calm. If he wasn't so worried, it might be amusing. "Hey, Jonny, film this from the other side. Wouldn't want the good people of Gotham to forget it's their White Knight they're watching, after all." He paused, then managed a laugh. "Hey, another knight. It really is a fairy tale."

"You bastard," Dent hissed, and Jonathan noted that his good side was almost unrecognizable as well, contorted with rage.

"Watch it, Harvey. Statements like that, and you'll lose the votes of Gotham's illegitimate." He paused, as if in thought. "Wait, guess that doesn't matter anymore, huh?"

"You ruined my life."

"All I did was hold up a mirror to your happy little world," Joker said, suddenly serious. "All I did was show you how things really are. You're the one who ruined your life, and good riddance, it was boring as hell before I intervened. I might have given you the gun, but I didn't make you shoot anybody. So don't try and pin this on me, buddy boy."

"You killed _Rachel_!" Her name was shouted, though out of rage or a desire to be heard over the growing cacophony outside, Jonathan wasn't sure. Rage seemed more likely.

"Oh, we're back to that again." Joker rolled his eyes. "We've been through this, remember? And your little game of chance let me off the hook, so don't drag up water under the bridge. I got off fair and square. What, you wanna flip again?"

"No. You had your chance." He still looked enraged as ever. "Maybe this time I'll go for something else, something that matters to you the way Rachel mattered to me." And to Jonathan's horror, he found the man turned to face him.

"Mr. Dent, I just want you to know that I would have voted for you, if I'd been legally able," he tried, taking a step backwards.

Joker laughed, the sound raspier than ever thanks to the hands around his neck. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen, threatening mental patients. Besides, this is me we're talking about, Harvey. You really think I care what happens to him?"

_He's just saying that, _Jonathan reassured himself. Didn't make it hurt any less.

With a sigh that nearly became a shout, Dent let him go, the red and irritated skin of the Joker's throat standing out in sharp contrast to the white of his face paint. "What do you want?"

"It's not what I want, it's what _you _want."

"Cut the crap, Joker," he said, slumping onto the bed. "I'm not in the mood."

"Fine. Outside your door, there's absolute chaos. I guarantee you, what's left of the Arkham staff is _far _too preoccupied at the moment to keep anyone from getting out, even a prisoner as top secret as yourself. Meaning you could escape right now if you wanted. Or stay, and rot in a cell for the rest of your life. It's your choice."

Dent glared at him, but Jonathan took the pause before his response as a sign that he was considering it. "Escape and do what? What have I got left to live for?"

"You know, you really don't _need _a reason to live." The Joker dropped down on the bed beside him, Jonathan following his movements with the camera. "People always assume there's some great meaning to the world, some, uh, true path that they just need to find and everything will be a-okay, but there's not. It's all random, Harvey. You don't need something to live for. All you need is a motivation."

Dent's good eye blinked, half his face alternating between a look of hatred, and one of thoughtfulness. "What motivation?"

"Whatever you want, that's the beauty of it! I dunno…" he pursed his lips, considering. "Go back after the mob, or finish your revenge on the people responsible for—" Catching sight of Dent's expression, the Joker seemed to decide it was best not to mention Rachel. "For…you know. Or get outta Gotham, if you want. Really, what's keeping you here? Starting over someplace else has gotta be better than staying trapped in here for the rest of your life. I mean, look at this place. What idiot decided to paint the walls that shade of yellow? It's like jaundice, only, you know, less pleasant."

"Why do you care, anyway? What's in this for you?"

"Honestly? Nothing." He ran his tongue over his lips, smirking slightly as Harvey blinked again. "Like I said, everybody needs a motivation, and mine's the Batman. Now that we've got proof of your existence to clear his name, I really don't care what happens to you. I mean, I'd like for you to go back to wreaking havoc, I'm all for chaos, but at the end of the day, if you stay here, it's no great loss. So what's it gonna be, Two-Face?"

Jonathan watched, perplexed, as Harvey Dent pulled from under the bed's pillow what seemed to be a silver dollar. _Well, this just gets stranger and stranger._ He stood silent, filming, as Dent turned to reveal a side scratched and marred, barely recognizable as a coin at all.

"I leave," he said, and Jonathan felt more lost than ever.

"Wait a minute, Harv. How come my option gets the bad side?" Joker asked, pouting. In the nurse's dress, it was an especially disturbing sight.

"Because _you_ suggested it."

"Touché."

_Is he flipping a coin for this? Who leaves a decision like that up to chance? _Jonathan recalled the Joker's words from his explanation of the plan earlier, something about Dent's inability to make his own decisions. He hadn't realized it was to this extreme. Fascinating. Now he really wanted to analyze him.

"I stay," Dent said, turning the coin back to its good side. Joker nodded, and Jonathan focused the camera to Dent's hand just as he flipped, tracing the coin's movement through the air and back to his hand, zooming in.

Bad side up.

"Yay!" Joker clapped his hands, like a child witnessing a magic trick. "It's funny, isn't it, how chance for you always seems to go in my favor?"

"Shut up." Dent stood, and Jonathan took a few steps back, zooming the view out again. "Get out of here before I decide to make killing you my new motivation."

"Aw, don't be like that, Harvey. I've got a proposition for you."

"No."

"But you haven't even heard it yet!" the Joker protested, standing. "You might like it, it's right up your alley."

He sighed, biting what remained of his lower lip. "What is it?"

"We're going after Batman. Wanna help?"

It was remarkable, really, how much expression he could show with half of his face blown off. "Why the hell would I want to help you do that?"

"Because Batman's the one who stopped your revenge in the first place. And it's because of the Bat that I showed up, so in turn, if he hadn't been around, your life would be perfect."

"That," Dent said, scowling, "is the worst logic I've ever heard."

Joker shrugged. "It doesn't matter how I reason it, 'cause we both know it won't be logic that gets you on my side. Just luck. So flip it again, why don'tcha."

"Fine." He did, Jonathan following the coin with the camera again. This time it landed good side up. They didn't need to be told that that meant no.

"Guess chance isn't always on my side," Joker said, swiping the door and holding it open. "Ah well. Maybe next time. Happy Halloween, Harvey!" he shouted, at the man's retreating back.

"Go to hell."

"Goodbye!" Jonathan called happily. Hey, if he'd started the disarmingly out of touch with reality routine, it was best to keep it up. If their paths crossed again, it could be helpful. He turned to the Joker. "Can I stop filming now?"

"Yeah, go ahead." Joker watched as Dent disappeared around the corner, a growing smirk on his face. "This is fantastic."

Jonathan watched the viewfinder go black, flipped it shut. "What did you do to him?" That coin thing…it would take a lot to reduce a man's view of the world to such an absolute, black and white interpretation. He tried to imagine going through life making only yes or no choices.

"Besides making his girl all kaboomy? Nothing much, not really. C'mon." He took the wrist of Jonathan's free hand, dragging him along. The hall was littered with bodies, some smiling, some stabbed, but many torn to bits.

"What the hell did you do?" he asked, in an awed whisper.

"Remember when you said some people might react violently?"

"And how," he muttered, shaking his head. "Any sign of the Batman?"

Joker sighed. "No. Not yet. And I'm not leaving 'til I see him, even if it means getting out on the roof and shouting through a megaphone."

"Shouting?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'd have thought you'd be serenading him, the way you go on."

"Hmmm. Good idea. Lemme see…'love lifts us up where we belong, where eagles fly on a mountain high…'" He was half-stepping, half-skipping over the bodies, dragging Jonathan along behind him so quickly he was barely able to keep from falling over.

"Hey, wait!" he said, catching sight of a particular door, wrenching free.

"What?" Joker asked, as he handed over the pass key. "Other friends you need to visit?"

"If my friends have any sense, they'll be long gone by now." He pushed the door open, holding it open for the Joker as he stepped inside. "Anyway, this is the storage room."

"And we're here why?" he asked, watching as Jonathan scanned the shelves.

"When I was brought in after Batman captured me in that parking garage, I had fear toxin with me. With any luck, it'll be here somewhere."

"But we've got the laughing gas."

"Right, and Batman's got a body that was affected with the stuff. Meaning he might have found a way to counteract it. He's only had it for a short time, but we've no idea what resources he's got at his disposal."

"Uh, kitten? He's got the antidote to your fear gas too, remember?"

"Not this one." Finally, he found the box marked 'J. Crane' and grabbed it, rifling through. "It was a new compound, made specifically so he wouldn't have the antidote, and I never had the chance to use it, so he didn't know it was any diff—got it!" With immense relief, he pulled the canister from the box, sliding the wrist strap into place. _Maybe there is a God, after all._

"The hell is wrong with the security in this place?" the Joker asked, shaking his head. "I mean, why would they keep that lying around?"

"For some aspiring mad scientists to get their hands on, I'd imagine," Jonathan said, opening the door again. "The doctors here are just as bad as the patients, hadn't you noticed?"

"Yeah. To the parking lot!" They were off again, Jonathan leading this time.

"Why the parking lot? I thought you wanted to see Batman."

"I do, but outside there won't be as many distractions, hopefully. I mean, it's hard to get renunited when crazy people run through tearing each other apart, you know?"

"Can't say that I do," he said, quickening his pace. "And I hope that I never—"

WHAM. It was like something out of a cartoon, when two people walk around a corner at the same time and straight into each other, only much less amusing, as he'd been moving quickly and the impact hurt. He fell backward, bits of broken glass from smashed-in windows and debris from God knows what scraping into his legs as he landed, the camera dropping out of his hand as he hit the ground. He pulled himself up slightly, heard the Joker's amused giggle, and raised his head, fully intended to deal with whatever idiot had crashed into him and then tell the clown off. The threat he'd been preparing died in his throat.

On the floor beside him, also sitting up, was the Batman.

* * *

AN: 'The brighter the photo, the darker the negative' is from the episode of _Batman the Animated Series _'Two-Face Part One.'

The Mrs. Butterworth line, in regards to the fear toxin hallucinations, was inspired by a line in the book _Party Monster _where James St. James mentions that when taking Special K, everyone tends to look like Mrs. Butterworth.


	36. Alas My Love, You Do Me Wrong

AN: The chapter title is from the song 'Greensleeves.'

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

The sensible thing to do, of course, would be to run. Run for his life and never look back. Barring that, at least take advantage of the Batman's current state, his attention focused on getting back up,—and how had Jonathan managed to knock him over anyway? The man had to be at least twice his size.—and give him a blast of the fear toxin. Either of those would have made sense. Either of those would have got them to safety quickly, and without too much trouble.

As it was though, Jonathan remained on the ground himself, staring in open-mouthed horror.

It wasn't as if he hadn't come face to face with the Batman before, since being force fed his own toxin in Arkham. He had, repeatedly. But every time, it seemed, no matter how prepared he was for the confrontation, there was that moment of shock, when he was reminded of just how terrifying the man was, that threw him off guard when they met.

Scarecrow was screaming at him to get up and do something, _anything_, but as fate would have it, the moment he was feeling up to actually taking action, the Batman had pulled himself to his knees, making eye contact. "Are you all right, mi—"

There exist some expressions so strong that even a mask can't conceal them, and the Bat's current look, which very clearly said "Why in the name of all that is good and pure in this world is one of Gotham's Most Wanted in medical drag?" was one such expression. He raised his head a bit higher, no doubt catching sight of the Joker standing behind Jonathan, and looked even more lost. Angry, but lost.

"Jonny?" Joker nudged him with the back of his shoe, voice infuriatingly calm. "Get up dear, it's not polite to sit there gaping at visitors." He took hold of Jonathan's arm, pulling him back up, and Jonathan noticed that despite his steady tone, his hand was shaking. Though that was surely from excitement, not fear.

The Joker took a step back, pulling Jonathan along with him, as Batman stood. Jonathan wondered what sort of a mood the vigilante was in. Their encounters had taught him that there were two basic styles he had; the first, beat the criminal half to death and leave him outside the police station, the second, the try and talk the criminal into surrendering tack. In his experience, it usually depended on how atrocious the crime. Which, given their recent activities, didn't bode well for option two.

"Joker." God, Jonathan had forgotten just how terrifying his voice could be. It wasn't just the deep, rasping voice, but also the rage behind it, so strong that if the Batman were ever to fully let loose, Jonathan had no doubt he'd be dead in seconds. He tried not to shudder. He also noted that he hadn't been addressed, and was stunned with himself for feeling a pang of disappointment for it. _What, I'm not a threat? _Then again, next to the Joker, everyone paled in comparison.

"My love!" Joker answered brightly, and loud enough to make Jonathan wince. "And suddenly, life is worth living again. How long has it been since we last met, Batsy? It wasn't nice of you to leave me like that, for so long. I thought you'd stopped loving me, I rea—"

"Quiet." Jonathan was unable to keep from shuddering, that time, even with the Joker's melodrama undermining the moment. Honestly, he was acting like a twelve year old with a crush. If this was a typical encounter for them, he'd have hated to see the first meeting. "I am not in the mood to put up with you."

"Tou_chy_."

Jonathan worked up the nerve to take his eyes off Batman for a second, glance back at the Joker. A knife was glittering in the hand not holding his own, laughing gas still strapped to the wrist of the hand that was. Good. At least he wasn't taunting him completely unarmed, which Jonathan wouldn't have put past the clown at all.

"I don't even get a hug?"

If looks could kill, there would be nothing left of the Joker but a pile of smoldering ashes.

"You know, Bats, if you'd just show up when I wanna play, a lotta these deaths could have been avoided. But then, you're always willing to put _your _needs first, aren't you?"

"Refusing to give into your sick games doesn't make me selfish." He took another step forward.

Kicking a body out of his way first, Joker took a step back in response. "Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep through the night? Newsflash, Batboy, just because you don't kill, doesn't mean there isn't blood on your hands. Actually," he paused, musing, smacked his lips. "It puts more on, in some cases. You really oughta just kill me, you know that? Think of all the lives you'd save."

_Is he insane? Well, obviously, but I'd never thought he was _this _mad. _It was one thing to be around the Joker when he was feeling homicidal. That was nothing new, he'd adjusted to it by now. Suicidal Joker, on the other hand, he'd never seen before and never wanted to see again. Though likely, this wasn't suicidal intent at all, and just an attempt to push the Batman over the edge or throw him off guard. Either way, it was incredibly idiotic.

"Just let one of your little Batarangs _slip_, here." He lifted his hand holding the knife, drawing the blade lightly across his jugular. "I won't mind the pain, you know. If it's _you_, it's o_kay_. And you can tell the Commissioner it was an accident—"

"Enough." Another step toward them. They took another step back. _We're going to run out of hallway eventually, _Jonathan thought, the idea increasing his panic slightly. "You're going back to your padded cell."

"Okay," Joker said, with such calm that both Batman and Jonathan could only stare for a moment, stunned. "But only if I get you as a roommate."

Jonathan could see the Batman forcing himself not to sputter in indignation, which would have been highly amusing, he imagined, if imminent doom had not been hovering over him. "I'm not joking."

"_Awwww, _c'mon Batsy. Don'tcha want me to stay here? What, can't even do your friend this one _little _favor?"

"We're not friends."

_Oh, this is just idiotic. _It occurred to Jonathan that really, their entire rivalry was just stubbornness, Batman refusing to break his rule even when _not _doing so would cause more deaths, and Joker refusing to give up until he corrupted the Bat, equally impossible. It was like a game of Chicken where the cars not only collided, but the drivers tried to keep going after the wreck. Joker might have called it a paradox. Jonathan called it a waste of time.

"Well, now you're just being hurtful. Really, can you blame me for seeking attention elsewhere if _that's _how you're going to behave? Speaking of which," he took hold of Jonathan's shoulder, pulling the smaller man against him, running his hand through the curls of the wig. "Whaddya think of my new best friend, Bats? Tell, the truth, jealousy's what drew you out, isn't it?"

The Batman's eyes were on Jonathan for one of the first times since this confrontation has begun. "I couldn't care less about your sex life, you psychopath."

"You're not a very good liar." He was caressing Jonathan's face now. "I mean, look at him. Just screams 'lock up your daughters tonight, general, there'll be trouble in the maidens' quarters,' doesn't he? How can you not be jealous of something so pretty?"

_I really have become a trophy wife. Fantastic. _Batman's eyes were still on him, with was frightening as hell, Joker's reassuring touch aside. He realized he was blushing. It didn't help matters at all when the vigilante addressed him directly.

"Crane?"

"Hmm?" It was all the response he trusted himself to give without his voice shaking.

"You realize he's just using you to get the poison, don't you? As soon as he's bored, you'll be cast aside just like everyone else he uses. Why are you helping him?"

_Damn him. _Damn him and his ability to take all of Jonathan's concerns and say them out loud. Whatever. He wasn't going to let it get to him. Batman wasn't jealous, obviously, he'd have to be as out of touch with the world as the Joker to think that, but he was hitting below the belt. This was a tactic to divide them, that was all. He was a filthy, vile liar, and nothing he'd said was true, regardless of Jonathan's own doubts. He responded by shooting the Batman a venomous glare as he rubbed his head back against the Joker's hand, like a cat. "I think he's right about the jealous bit, Bat. Man. Honestly, there are healthier ways to work out sexual frustration than running through the city in costume. I'd know, I'm a psychiatrist."

"You're a murderer, thanks to him. When did you switch from research to slaughter?"

Was that supposed to make him feel guilty? He almost laughed. "Oh, about the time you started slacking off at being the city's sworn protector. We've been at this for how long and you're only now catching us?"

"He's using you, you little fool. You're only his newest Dr. Quinzel."

"Nice try, Batsy." Joker smirked, and Jonathan realized his participation in the conversation was likely over. He wasn't a part of this fight so much as he was a bargaining tool, like a child in the most screwed-up custody battle ever. "You don't _quite _have my finesse with people to make it work, though. Speaking of which, Two-Face is out, and now the whole city's gonna know about your not-so-white lie. Whaddya think of that?"

For a moment, Jonathan thought that the Bat was going to leapt at them, knives and chemicals or not, and beat them to death. Certainly he looked like he wanted to. Thankfully he didn't, though his tone when he spoke was enough to send chills down Jonathan's spine. "I think no one's going to believe a pair of mental patients."

"Oh, they won't have to take our word for it. We taped the whole thing." He took his hand off Jonathan's face, tapped him on the shoulder. "Show him the camera, Jonny."

It was at that moment Jonathan realized the camera was no longer in his hands. _Oh, fuck. _He was about to alert the Joker to this rather unpleasant fact when the Batman seemed to note something on the floor and knelt down, back up in a few seconds, camera in hand.

"This camera?" He'd never seen Batman smile before. It was absolutely horrifying.

_Oh, fuck_. He raised his hand, fully prepared to dispense all the toxin in the man's face, if that was what it took, when he felt the Joker grab him by the head, pulling him backwards, and cold, sharp metal pressed against his throat.

"Touch that, Bats, and I'll slit his throat." Jonathan didn't need to see his face to know that he was dead serious. He swallowed involuntarily, the blade pressing against his skin as he did. "Give it to me."

There was a standstill, in which the two stared at each other, Jonathan glancing back and forth as much as he could without moving far enough to shove the knife into himself by accident. He had no doubt that Batman would hand the camera over, that much was a given, considering the man's ridiculous rule, but it could take time, and the Joker did not seem to be in the most patient of moods at the moment. He could fully see him losing interest in waiting and simply stabbing Jonathan, then diving at the Batman with the laughing gas, before he could react and damage the phone.

"Give it to me," the Joker repeated, pressing the knife down hard enough to draw blood. Jonathan bit back a shout. _What the hell is taking him so long to make up his mind? Some hero. _He never thought he'd see the day when he was counting on Batman to save him.

He turned his head slightly toward the Bat, wincing at the way the knife pushed into his skin as he did. Eyes wide and helpless as possible, he said, voice shaking in just barely feigned terror, "Batman? I think he's seri—" And then moaned in entirely unfeigned pain as the Joker pressed harder.

"He's right. I am. So what's it gonna be, Batman, the camera, or a life?" Lifting the knife slightly, he trailed it across Jonathan's throat again, leaving a long, vertical slice that, despite being shallow, positively poured blood.

"Stop!" Jonathan was just able to keep from jumping at the shout, which was lucky, because if he had, he'd surely have impaled himself. "I'll give you the camera. Let him go."

"I'll let go when that's safely in my hands. Give it to Jonathan," he commanded, stroking the flat of the blade along his captive's throat, with the same gentleness he'd used to caress his face before. Jonathan fought the urge to faint, knowing it would be suicide to do so. He held his hand out, shaking, and watched as Batman moved forward. _Don't try anything, _he pleaded mentally, as if desperation could cause telepathy. _Don't try anything, please. He'll kill me if you do._

To his relief, the Batman did not try anything, merely pressed the camera into his hands, mouth working furiously. Likely he was disgusted with himself for handing it over. Ironic, considering this was the one time Jonathan had approved of his actions.

"Back up," Joker said, his voice slightly softened but still warning. "Now."

He remained where he was for a moment, mere inches between them. Jonathan wasn't sure which of the two scared him most at the moment. All he was sure on was that the defiant glare in the Bat's eyes was making his heart race. If he got stabbed because of this man's pride…it really was like watching a fighting couple. One that fought with knives and bullets.

Then, still silent, the Bat stepped back. Once. Twice. A third time.

Joker reached forward with the hand that wasn't holding a knife, taking the camera from Jonathan's hands. Jonathan sighed, relieved, until he realized the blade hadn't moved from his throat yet. "Joker?"

"Hush dear, the grownups are talking." Jonathan couldn't see his face, but he could imagine the grin there. "You're really that incorruptible, aren'tcha? Willing to let your whole scheme fall to pieces just because one little murderer would get hurt. Some would say that's, uh, noble, I guess. I'd call it stupid."

"Because I'm not a monster like you?"

"That's debatable. Your poor judgment? That's not. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's been fun but I've got a video to deliver to GCN."

"You're not going anywhere."

"Really?" Joker took a step back, dragging Jonathan. The blade pushed against his throat again, though thankfully it was still the blunt side. "And just how do you plan to stop me, Batsy? In case you haven't noticed, I've got the upper hand here."

"You can't keep it forever." He looked past the pair to the doors at the end of the ward. "You'll have to let go of either him or the camera to open those."

He licked his lips. "I think you underestimate me, Bats."

"Just end this, now. I don't want to fight you."

"See, there's that whole sucking at persuasion thing, back again." He took another step backwards, the Batman taking a forward step in response this time. "I happen to _like _fighting. Love it, actually. Though I suppose now's not the best of times…" He glanced between Jonathan and the camera. "I'm kinda carrying breakable things."

The Batman moved toward them again, and Jonathan felt the blade trace down on of the cuts on his throat, smearing the blood there. He stiffened, eyes wide as he looked at the vigilante. "Look, I'd really rather not be killed." _Please._

"Oh, be still, Jonny. I'm not gonna slit your throat." He loosened his grip, just slightly, and Jonathan relaxed, as much as one could relax with a knife still at his throat and Batman nearby. "I am sorry about this, though."

He stiffened again. "About what?"

"Well boys, it's been a blast, but I've got places to go, lives to destroy, that sort of thing."

Jonathan realized what he was going to do about a second before he did it. "_Don't_—"

And then the knife was away from his throat, hands grabbing by the back and half-shoving, half-throwing him forward, colliding into the Batman. The impact where his body hit the body armor was surprisingly painful; the armor had no give at all, logically, he guessed, given the Kevlar. Before him there was a blur of black armor, dark eyes, and stone wall rushing by as they went crashing into the ground. In the distance, he could hear running, a door sliding open. There was a shout of "Parting is such sweet sorrow!" and a slam. The Joker was gone.

And he was left alone, abandoned, with only a knife, fear toxin, and a very angry Bat beneath him. And, he was fairly sure, a broken heart.

* * *

AN: Sorry, I meant to have this up last night, but stupid things like sleep got in the way.

Kudos to whoever knows what the 'lock up your daughters tonight, general, there'll be trouble in the maiden's quarters' line is referencing!

I imagine Batman would be absolutely horrifying to the criminals he faces (excepting those such as the Joker, of course). I imagine even a law-abiding citizen would be frightened coming face to face with him. Fear is a big part of his crime fighting motif, after all. I also don't see Joker as at all suicidal, but getting Batman to kill him would be corrupting the Dark Knight, so if Batman ever killed him, I think he'd be happy. Not that he was serious when he made the offer in this chapter, though, that was him being irreverent.


	37. Touched

AN: As always, thanks for the reviews!

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He promised.

He was aware, on some level, that now was not the time to be brooding over his lover's latest betrayal. He could do that when he got out of this mess, _if _he got out of this mess, when the Batman was dead or at least strongly hallucinating. Then he could track down the Joker and pay him back for all the suffering he'd gone through since saying yes that night on the street, when the clown had given him a rose. That would have been logical. Even Scarecrow agreed with that course of action.

But like a record that couldn't jump a scratch, he remained unmoving, thoughts coming back to those two little words. _He promised._

It was idiotic, he knew, to trust anything the Joker said. He shouldn't have been surprised at all, really, especially considering that he'd just watched Joker manipulate both Harvey Dent and Harley without a moment's remorse. But…but he was supposed to be _different. _If the Joker promised him that he wouldn't let Batman hurt him, he was supposed to follow through, not cast him aside as a distraction, as if he didn't matter. _He promised._

_He lied, _Scarecrow said bluntly, those words even more painful than the knife at his throat had been. _And sitting here sulking about it isn't going to change a thing. So get off your ass and do something about it, before Batman gets back up and force feeds you poison again._

He felt Batman shift beneath him, and snapped back to the real world at once, pulling himself to a sitting position, legs pinning down the Bat's arms. He was shaking, though with rage as opposed to fear. There was nothing, nothing he wanted in the world now more than to get his hands around the Joker's throat and choke the life from him, show him what happened to those who manipulated him. But as Joker wasn't there at the moment, the Batman would have to serve as his punching bag.

Which wouldn't work, he knew, unless he subdued him first. He wasn't deluded enough to think he stood a chance against the man at full power, but scared shitless and hallucinating, that was different story. Low blow or not, he wasn't above kicking a drug-weakened Batman in the ribs a few dozen times before he hunted down the clown and gave him his just desserts. He raised his shaking hand, fully prepared to fire.

Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that Batman was about twice his size and his pathetic body weight would hardly be enough to hold him down. A gloved hand closed around his arm, painfully tight, and for one horrible moment he was sure the toxin would be sprayed in his face again, bracing himself. Thankfully, he was merely flipped over onto the floor—though the force Batman exerted on his arm to do that was excruciating—pinned down, Batman holding his arms over his head. There were bits of glass and debris and possibly human remains poking in his back, and the pressure on his wrists was tight enough to remove any idea of trying to break free from his mind.

Still, he wasn't about to be subdued that easily, and immediately brought his knee up, will full force, into the Batman's crotch.

It had about as much effect as the time he'd tried that move on the Joker, or possibly less. _Well, fantastic. _Of course that area would be as armored and protected as the rest of him, and now all he had to show for his efforts was a new pain shooting through his knee. The Batman lowered his full body weight on Crane, his legs onto of the smaller man's, making further kicking impossible.

"What's his plan?" The question was not asked so much as shouted in his face. He felt one of the gloved hands at his wrist moving, taking the fear gas by the wrist strap and slowly but surely sliding it off. Crane lost any composure he'd managed to hang onto immediately, thrashing and struggling as much as his position would allow, twisting his wrists, trying to grab the wrist strap with the free hand, keep it from being pulled off.

He didn't succeed, of course. What chance did he have, when it came down to brute strength? "Hold still," the Batman growled, and his wrists were suddenly, painfully pulled apart, the toxin removed and cast aside while he was unable to grab it with the opposite hand. He heard it clatter to the floor somewhere, and fought back harder than ever, still to no effect.

"What's his plan?"

"He explained it, or weren't you listening?" Crane spat, eyes burning with venom. "I'd think that 'I've got a video to deliver to GCN' is pretty self-explanatory, but then I've got a PhD. What do you want me to do, demonstrate it with pictures?"

"Enough." His wrists were back together, held with one hand while another took hold of his jaw, hard enough to make his teeth cut into his face, silencing him. "How's he getting out of here?"

"With Floo powder, I'd imagine." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Scarecrow was warning him that taunting Batman at a time like this, fun as it was, was not a very wise idea. He couldn't care less. He was mad as hell and the Bat would just have to take it. Sure, it was likely to get him beaten within an inch of his life, but if anger kept the emotional hurt at a bay, he wouldn't mind.

There was a fist slamming into his stomach, the pain paling in comparison to the choking sensation he felt when the air was forced out of his lungs. It was like being held underwater all over again. The only thing keeping him from going into a complete panic attack was that blessed anger, burning as strongly as ever. "How's he getting out of here?" This time it was roared in his face, really.

_Idiot. _Honestly, how stupid did you have to be, demanding answers when the captive was choking? Or impulsive, anyway. He glared up at him, struggling for breath, and finally managed, "I've no idea. Certainly not the way he came. And even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

"He used you."

The reminder felt like being thrown all over again. "Shut up," he muttered, barely audible even to himself, physically aching from the mix of sorrow and outrage. And humiliation.

"He used you, just like he used your best friend. First for the gas, and now as a distraction. Why are you defending him?"

"_Shut up_!" he shouted, horrified to feel tears coming to his eyes. _No, I can't cry. Not like this, not in front of _him, _I can't. _He never cried, and certainly not in front of anyone. Well, the Joker, but that was under the effects of a drug. But not now. He couldn't let the Batman see him like this, he wouldn't. He stared upwards, forcing himself not to blink for fear of forcing the tears out. "I don't know how he's leaving, all right? Don't ask again."

It wasn't the smartest thing to do, commanding an enraged Batman, but he found that he couldn't be worried, not anymore. The added anger that had arrived once Batman had reflected his feeling of betrayal back on him, again, had entirely removed his sense of self-preservation. All he cared about was hurting the Bat as much as possible for bringing it up, and then hurting the Joker, wherever he was.

"Where did Dent go?" he asked, after a pause, sounding just barely controlled. Crane guessed he'd wanted to hurt him rather badly, for telling him what to do.

"Number Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane, London," he said, sarcastically, Scarecrow wincing mentally as the Batman's fist came down again, this time over his face. There was a gush of blood from his nose, which may or may not have broken. Either way, it made breathing difficult.

"_Where did he go_?" And that time it was loud enough to be painful.

Whatever tiny part of his mind that still cared about living took charge and answered. "I _really _don't know. We offered to let him come with us, he turned down the offer, he left that way." He tilted his head toward the doors the Joker had disappeared through, the opposite from where the Batman had entered. "He didn't say where he was going. I doubt he even knew."

The Batman's eyes were burning into his, as if his gaze could double as a polygraph test. Crane stared back, terrified but unblinking, as he could still feel excess moisture in his eyes, and he'd be damned if he let the man see that weakness. After a moment, one of the hands left his wrists again, touching lightly against his chest, skimming over the dress.

"Hey!" He was unable to keep the panic from his voice, cursing himself for it. So now the Batman knew he couldn't stand to be touched. Well, that was the last straw on an already unbearable load. "Get off! What are you doing?"

"Searching you for weapons." He sounded as if he was amused and trying to hide it. Oh, how Crane longed to grab hold of those stupid bat ears and slam his head into the floor tiles until there was nothing left but a mess of tissue and bits of bone.

"Don't touch me!" He knew he was begging, could feel whatever pride he'd maintained in the past few weeks shatter into a thousand little pieces, but he couldn't help it. He hated being touched under normal circumstances, let alone so quickly after the betrayal of someone he'd let touch him so often, so intimately.

"I don't have much of a choice. I don't want a surprise stabbing." There was no humor in the voice now, and no pity yet, but it sounded as if there could be. He didn't think he'd be able to take it if there was.

"I don't have a weapon." Honestly, he didn't. He'd only had the fear toxin and the knife, which was in the purse he'd dropped somewhere when he'd run into Batman, much like the camera. The Batman's hand was over his stomach now and it was enough to make him feel ill.

"You haven't given me much incentive to trust you." His hands were over Crane's sides.

"_Please_." He could feel himself break at the word, tears sliding down his face.

"I'm not going to hurt you." And there it was, the pity in his voice. His voice itself had changed, quieter, almost gentle, and that made Crane sicker than ever, bringing new tears to his eyes. He did not want pity, damn it, especially not from him. "At least, I don't want to. Don't fight me, I'll be done i—"

He'd kept up the search while he spoke, and Crane could feel the gloved hand skim over his groin. It was a second of contact at most, likely less, but the profound _wrongness _of it pushed him over the edge. He knew it was a search, he knew it meant nothing, and it wasn't as if he hadn't been searched before, but it was too much, given recent events. His first thought was _Nobody but the Joker touches me there, not ever_, and then he realized he was still pining for the touch of that bastard and had to bite back vomit. As if the violation wasn't enough, now his own mind was against him?

He sobbed, and loudly enough that Batman looked back up at him, alarmed, judging by the wideness of his eyes. "That hurt you? Are you injur—"

Crane took advantage of his distraction to bolt upright, ignoring the horrible pain that shot down his arms when he wrenched free. Weaponless, he did the first thing that came to mind, grabbed the back of Batman's cowl and leaned in, biting the exposed part of his face as hard as he could.

He tasted blood at once, swallowing to keep from choking on it. The taste made him gag harder than ever, but he held on as if his life depended on it, ignoring the flavor the same way he was ignoring the fists coming down on him, the thrashing body, the hands trying to push him away. He bit like a rabid animal, wanting nothing more than to tear the flesh right off. It would serve the bastard right, for all the punches and remarks and touching.

He stayed in place for at least a minute, before a hand wound itself through his hair, bringing intense pain as he was pulled back, blood dripping from his mouth. Once his teeth were safely out of the Batman's skin, the other hand slammed across his face, sending him flying to the side, off the vigilante.

He scrambled to his knees, ignoring the cuts debris had made on his body, and spotted the fear gas lying not five feet away. Not wasting the time to stand up, he crawled for it, fingers closing around it just as the Batman grabbed hold of his ankle, pulling him back. Still clutching the canister, he pulled his leg back with all his strength, then shot it straight out again, foot slamming into the Batman's face. There was a satisfying crunching sound, and a flow of blood from the other's nose.

The Batman staggered backwards for a second, Crane taking advantage of the moment to get his own balance back, pointing the fear toxin, ready to fire. Only he hadn't been counting on the Batman being able enough to tackle him, and was once again sent sprawling to the floor, pinned down. A hand closed around his wrist, the pain horrible, but he refused to let go of the fear gas, refused to stop struggling, trying with all his might to point the stuff back in the direction of the Bat's face, and fire.

"Stop it," Batman ordered, his blood dripping down into Crane's face, like rain. "I told you, I don't want to hurt you."

"Could have fooled me," he spat, blood leaking from his own mouth thanks to the latest punch.

"You bit my face!"

"You touched me." He could feel his face burning at the memory of it, disgusted with himself for being so affected, so human.

"That's different."

"I don't think so." He was still crying, God damn it. If there was one person he never wanted to show weakness in front of…well, this was shaping up to be the worst day ever.

"I want to help you."

"No, you don't. You really don't. That's just what you tell yourself, so you can dress up each night and punch the daylights out of people while still feeling good about yourself. You dress up like _that_, and ride around in a tank, and you're trying to tell me that _isn't_ self-righteous thrill seeking? If what I do makes me mad, then you're every bit as bad as I am, only you try and justify it by saying you're protecting the city."

"I don't kill people."

"And that makes it all okay?" He managed to laugh, even through the blood in his mouth. "If you believe that, you really are insane. I didn't kill people to begin with either." Well, there were the mental patients who'd had heart attacks as a result of the experiments, but that hardly counted. "Last I checked, I still got locked up, but you didn't, and it's not as if what you do isn't breaking laws."

"I don't hurt people."

He laughed again, ignoring the way it made his head pound. "You hurt me."

"I don't hurt people if I can avoid it. I don't _like _hurting you."

"Oh, right. I bet you just _hate_ it, don't you?" The pain in his wrist had moved past excruciating now, sliding towards hellish. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep the struggle up. "Tell me, do you wear that mask to protect your identity, or so you can still stand to look at your real face in the mirror each morning, after the things you do?"

"Enough. I'm taking you to what's left of the staff in this place."

It just figured. Changing the subject as soon as things got too close to the truth. He sighed, almost inhaling his blood by accident. Back to a cell, without even getting his revenge. Fantastic.

"Are you going to come quietly, or do I have to drag you the whole way?"

_Wait a moment…this could work to my advantage._ He took the hand not holding fear gas and grabbed hold of the Batman's arm, eyes wide as he could make them go. "Wait—you can't lock me back up, not _here_."

"It's where you belong."

"But you don't know what it's _like_," he pleaded, making his voice break on the last word. "You've never _been _here. It isn't safe."

"It's a hospital." But he was, Crane noted, looking at him with something that had the potential to become sympathy. _Idiot, _he thought, fighting back a smile. _Your compassion is going to get you killed one day. Not that I'll be too out of sorts over it. _He stopped fighting the tears that were coming to his eyes, knowing it would make him look all the more helpless. God bless his mother for his eyes, the only good thing she'd ever given him.

"It's not _safe_," he repeated. "You can't trust a place that let someone like _me _in charge. If you leave me here, right after _this _little number, I'll be dead by morning." He made himself shiver, tightening his hold on the Batman's arm. The hand around his wrist remained tight as ever, but he was lowering his guard, Crane knew it. How dangerous could the panicked little mental patient be, after all? He was almost unable to keep from laughing, turning what would have been a giggle into a sort of choked sob.

Batman was looking at him with—well, it wasn't quite sympathy, more like disgusted pity, but he'd take what he could get. "You wouldn't die." His voice was irritated, but also oddly patient, as if he was speaking to a small child. "There are guards to protect the patients."

"Guards whose friends I'll have killed," he whimpered, almost hugging onto him by this point. "Who'll want revenge. Don't leave me here, _please_."

"There's nowhere else to take you."

He responded by sobbing.

He heard the Batman sigh, and knew he'd won. "You'll be fine. I'll watch this place, all right? No one's going to hurt you. Now get up."

"Are you coming with me?" he asked, in the smallest voice possible.

"Until I find an employee—a _trustworthy _one," he added, as Crane moaned. "Yes. Up."

He unwound himself from Batman, sitting slowly, letting the hand with the toxin go limp, to further lower his guard. Then, as soon as the Bat's eyes dropped to his weapon-holding hand he took the other, and lightning fast, shoved his fingers as hard as he could into the bite mark he'd made on Batman's face.

He wasn't sure how deep the bite was, and he couldn't guess much by feeling, as the unicorn Band-Aids on his fingers blocked most sensation, but however seriously, it must have hurt horribly, because Batman howled, releasing his wrist at once. Crane tightened his grip on the toxin, pulling his hand out of the way before it could be grabbed again. Batman's hands were on him again in seconds, pulling him away from the wound, but not fast enough to keep him from raising the toxin and firing it in his face.

It took a few seconds to take effect, but when it did, it was glorious. Batman, as he'd learned from the first time he'd poisoned him, was not a screamer, but the way he shook and moaned almost made up for it. Crane pulled himself free with no effort at all, and stood, straightening his skirt. He slipped the wrist strap back on, watching, smirking as Batman collapsed to the floor, and made his way over to his purse. He pulled out his glasses, slipped them on, then took the knife and walked back over to his nemesis. Oh, he wouldn't mind savoring this for as long as he could, but he still had the Joker to track down, and if he wanted to catch him before he left, he'd better be quick about it. Besides, Batman had felt the effects of a similar compound before, and that could lessen its effectiveness. No, best to leave now.

He gave Batman one good, hard kick in the ribs first. "Don't ever touch me again," he muttered, the memory almost wiping the smile from his face, then tightened his grip on the knife and turned, setting off to find his lover.

And when he did, he was going to kill him.

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AN: 'Floo powder' is the substance used to travel through chimneys in _Harry Potter. _I see Jonathan as a fan (I'm sure he'd get along well with Professor Snape) though he'd deny ever reading them if asked. Not nearly professional enough.

"Number Seventeen Cherry Tree Lane" is the Banks family's address in _Mary Poppins. _I also see Jonathan as a fan of musicals, and Mary was actually rather scary at points in the original books, as were some of the adventures, so I won't put it past him to have read those as well.


	38. Flower in Bloom

AN: The chapter title is a reference to Joker's metaphor about the rose from chapter fourteen.

So spazberry finished her lovely little fan art, which you should all go check out here: http: // atroxbasium. deviantart. com/ art/ Crane-Considers-a-Clown-Fini-108818495 (remove the spaces). Look at the drawings on the walls, they are awesome.

Thanks for the reviews!

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__You're having a breakdown, _Scarecrow said, and for once, he was the one who sounded nervous. _You know that, right?_

_Your point being?_ This hallway was even worse than the one he'd fought Batman in, littered so thickly with bodies that it slowed his pace by half, at least. He'd tried walking on top of the corpses, but as it turned out, some of them weren't fully dead and had that annoying habit of moving and shrieking beneath him. He supposed the higher body count here was due to the proximity toward the exit; people had flocked here, trying to get free, like lambs to the slaughter.

_My point being that you can't go after the Joker like this. You can't beat him when you're in your right mind, what chance do you have like this?_

_You underestimate me. _A crooked smile twisted his lips. _He may be stronger and the better fighter, but I'm _pissed _beyond description right now. And he's going to suffer for his actions, even if it kills us both. _It wouldn't kill _him_ though, he knew that, without knowing how he knew. He'd always been a bit of a narcissist, he'd admit, but never to the level of believing himself safe from harm before. He liked the feeling; it was comforting, it gave him strength. He wondered, vaguely, if he was going into mania, then wondered why he cared. It felt good, it gave him confidence, that was all that mattered.

From down the hall he heard screaming. Intrigued, he quickened his pace, much to Scarecrow's protests. Whether his other half was worried that he'd sprain his ankle over the bodies or that he'd walk into a death trap, he wasn't sure and didn't care. It was soothing, the screaming, like a favorite song playing on the radio unexpectedly, and he wanted to be near it, take it in before he went to kill the Joker. Aural courage, as it was.

He stepped through another step of doors, into the main lobby of the asylum, and saw the source of the screaming at once. Joan Leland, that irritating doctor he'd always disliked. Of course, she'd be the one to survive the massacre. He almost laughed. Didn't look like she'd be living for long, though. Currently, she was being backed into a corner by an enormous inmate who may or may not have been affected by the laughing gas, hands soaked in blood and gore almost up to the elbows.

Jonathan did laugh, then, and both of them turned to face him.

"Jonathan?" Leland's eyes were wide, her expression lost. He figured she had no idea what he was doing here, which was pathetic, really. People being killed off with a strange chemical substance, his sudden appearance, and she couldn't put two and two together? Or maybe it was the drag throwing her off. Either way, it made him laugh harder than ever.

_Jonathan! _Scarecrow's voice was loud, terrifying, and he stopped laughing long enough to note that the psychotic was now advancing on him.

_Is that all? Pull yourself together. _He pointed the knife in the inmate's direction, waiting. "_They roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws,_" he said, giggling, as Leland went the whitest he'd ever seen a black woman turn and Scarecrow screamed at him to run for his life. The inmate, still approaching, didn't looked fazed in the slightest, though he didn't look much of anything to Jonathan, apart from soon to be dead.

"_Til Max said, 'BE STILL!'_" he shouted, and that was when the man jumped. Leland shrieked louder than ever.

It was ridiculously simple, really, to evade. All he had to do was step ever so slightly out of the way at the right moment, make sure to stick the knife out, and the rest was done for him. The inmate slumped a second later, Jonathan's knife in his eye socket, likely pushed back to the brain.

"_And tamed them all with the magic trick of staring into their yellow eyes without blinking once_," he went on to the corpse, almost conversationally, as he pulled the knife out, holding the body up by the shirt. As best he could anyway, it was heavy. He looked at the eye dripping down the face, so different from the other, intact if glazed one, and recalling the Joker's story about symmetry, stuck his knife in the other eye. He twisted the blade, and something like egg white ran down the face. He pulled it out, wiped it on the body's shirt, and let him fall. "_And they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all._"

…_Jonathan? _Scarecrow asked, now frightened by his other half itself, as opposed to just the situation. _Jonathan, I really think you ought to sit down and take a few deep breaths before you do anything else._

_Fuck that noise, _Jonathan responded, heading for the exit.

"Jonathan!" He turned, mildly annoyed. Leland was standing, still shaking. "Jonathan, what's going on? Why are you here?" She looked him over, eyes widening over what he assumed was the outfit until she spoke again. "Is that your blood?"

"Not all of it." He thought about killing her. Certainly she'd been a thorn in his side long enough to warrant it. But no, if he was going to kill Leland, he wanted to take make it last, make her suffer the way he'd suffered through her long, stupid therapy sessions, and he was running out of time. Chances were the Joker had left by now, and tracking him down would be hard enough without giving the trail time to fade. He turned to go.

"Jonathan, wait!"

He ignored her. She certainly wasn't going to try grabbing hold of him when he was armed, and if she'd had a weapon, she would have used it. He stepped through the doors and outside, feeling the cool night air on his skin.

_Jonathan, stop. Seriously, think this through. If you fuck with him, he'll kill you without a second thought._

_He can try,_ Jonathan thought, tightening his grip on the knife as he headed for the parking lot.

_Wait! Don't you want to go back there and harass that nice doctor? _Scarecrow pleaded, the mental equivalent of dragging his heels into the ground and refusing to move. _You can do that thing you love so much where you give bitchy little sarcastic response to her questions. Or, you know, talk about emotional rape and why it's bad and all, if you want._

_Shut up. _Thinking about the way the Joker had treated him brought unhappy thoughts dangerously close to the surface. He didn't want to come off the cloud he was standing on, back down to Earth where he had feelings to be hurt and he wasn't invincible. He focused on how pretty the Joker's blood would look, all spilt across his throat and on the pavement, and grinned.

He'd gone halfway around the building before he spotted them, to his surprise, standing by some ridiculous flashy reds sports car. The Joker appeared to be smashing through the window with a crowbar, God only knew where he'd found that. Harley stood beside him, camera in hand. He advanced, ignoring Scarecrow's increasingly verbose protests—he hadn't realized Scarecrow knew that many big words—and approached them, knife in hand and fear toxin ready. He wondered why they were still hanging around. Perhaps the Joker had gotten into a fight or two on his way out.

Harley spotted him first, and waved. She looked far less depressed than she had when he'd last seen her. Doubtless the clown had already begun manipulating her back into her compliant, servant girl disposition, judging by her perkiness at noticing him. If he'd been in her position, he definitely wouldn't have been that happy.

_How could I have let that happen to me?_ He wondered, unable to keep from hurting as he watched her smiling face. _How could I have been so stupid? _He was disgusted with himself, almost as ready to turn the blade on his own throat as he was to slash the Joker's. The Joker was a manipulator, yes, but he was supposed to be a genius. He was supposed to be above lies like love and primal, biological urges. The fact that he'd been played so easily made him sick. Well, maybe if he killed the Joker, the hurt would go away. Either way, the clown would be dead, and that was something.

Anyway, the hurt went out of his head went his former lover abandoned the crowbar for a moment, turning to face him. The king of all wild things. The Joker. The soon-to-be bleeding out. He felt himself smile. Joker was going to die, and he was going to enjoy every last second.

"Kitten! How did it go?" He took in Jonathan's appearance and whistled, then shook his head at the state of his friend's legs. "Aw, your tights—they're in ribbons."

Something about that statement—or perhaps just Joker's nonchalance—pushed him over the edge, and he made his move. The knife flashed out in his hand, slicing through the Joker's shirt. He'd overestimated his reach though; the skin below the fabric was barely cut, and Joker moved out of range before he could try again. Harley screamed.

Joker only stared, nauseatingly calm. "I take it you're not happy with me?"

"You broke your promise." He could feel the hurt coming back, at the worst possible moment, of course. Such was his luck. He tried to stay on that cloud, removed from it all, but the cloud was sinking to the ground, becoming fog, and he felt himself falling with it. Tears were forming in his eyes. "You lied."

"Did not," he said, almost gently. "I said, I wouldn't let Batman get you if I was around to stop it. And I wasn't in the room, scaredy cat."

_Oh, you son of a bitch. _How dare he try and justify himself? He lunged at the Joker, ignoring Harley and Scarecrow's protests, knife out. The Joker grabbed hold of his wrist, twisting it back, and the weapon fell to the pavement. Outraged, Jonathan shot out his other hand closing it as tightly as possible around the Joker's throat. "I'm going to kill you!"

Joker only laughed, pushing his hand away as if it was nothing. "I finally broke you, huh? Gotta say, Jonny, you're certainly more forceful this way. It's interesting."

"Guys?" Harley's voice was shaking, unsure. "Please don't fight—"

"You used me." His fists were flying out so fast he could barely keep track of them, colliding with the Joker over and over again and that damn clown just kept laughing. "You used me and you left me."

"Well, yeah. Why are you surprised about it?"

"Because it _hurt_, stupid!" he shouted, tears falling down his face now. He was humiliating himself and that hurt almost as much as the betrayal had. "You said that you loved me, and then you used me to run away. It _hurt_."

"You're going to kill me for that?" The Joker was giggling. He'd have given anything at that moment to grab onto his stupid green hair and slam his head against the car until he knocked every tooth in that smile right out. And he would too, as soon as he got a hold of him.

"Yes."

"Good luck with that."

"_Guys_—" Harley pleaded, but Jonathan had already jumped forward, arms wrapping around the Joker's middle as they went crashing to the ground. Joker was laughing harder than ever, despite all the punches colliding with his jaw, and that just made Jonathan hit harder.

He smiled, revealing bloodstained teeth. "Kitten, relax." His tone was infuriatingly reasonable. It made Jonathan want to kill things. Starting with him.

"Don't call me that!" He felt tears starting again and blinked furiously to clear his eyes.

"Jonathan, then. Please don't be sad. Look, what I did was wrong, all right? I know that. But don't ruin what we have over it."

"Shut _up_." He had no desire to hear anything the Joker had to say. That was how he got into this mess in the first place, letting himself be drawn in by the madman's words. Well, it wasn't going to happen again. "We never had anything, you son of a bitch, beyond your twisted little games. You used me from the start."

"How can you say that?" Joker asked, sounding wounded. His face fell into such an expression of sadness that Jonathan honestly couldn't tell if it was an act or not. "Everything we had…how can you write that off, because of one little—well, huge," he corrected, before he could be hit again. "Mistake?"

"Shut up!" He couldn't listen to this, couldn't let himself be drawn in again. Because if he let the Joker hurt him again, he wasn't sure he could go on afterwards. "I don't want to hear any more of your lies."

"The rose, Jonathan." His voice was soft, almost pleading. "The rose, and the kisses after that. How can you say that didn't mean anything? How can you call that a lie?"

_The rose_…he felt something inside himself give as he thought of the flower, and the spark of joy it had given him every time he looked at it in the days after that first fantastic night. It was enough to make him hesitate. "But…you hurt me."

"And it was wrong. I know that. And I know your feelings are all messed up." Joker's wide brown eyes stared up at him, for once looking sane, reasonable even. "But honey, don't let that ruin all the good times we've had. Don't confuse yourself into thinking that what we have is meaningless."

It would have worked. He was ready to give in right there, to let the Joker convince him that everything would be all right. Lean down and kiss him, let the clown hold him as they stared up at the stars, apologies exchanged without speaking. Certainly it was preferable to this pain. He felt his resolve weakening, Scarecrow relaxing, and was opening his mouth to make some apology for the violence, when Harley stepped into his line of view.

Doubtless she was still terrified; they'd been speaking too softly for her to hear. She likely had come closer to make sure neither of her friends was stabbing the other, that they were both still breathing. But seeing her was a reminder, a reminder that the Joker was nothing but a manipulative bastard. Nothing he said, no matter how convincing, no matter how much nicer it was than facing the real world, could be trusted, and Harley was living proof of that. If he gave in now, he'd end up just like her, pathetic, more broken than he was now, and always rushing straight back into the Joker's arms, no matter how badly he was abused.

And he would not let that happen. He _couldn't. _He'd seen his mother submit in that way to various men, then his best friend as well, but he would _not _let it happen to himself. Straightening up, he slapped the Joker across the face, as hard as he could, crying all over. "You used me. You…" There was only one word for it, really, though it had happened to his emotions and not his body. "You _raped _me, you sick bastard."

The Joker grabbed hold of his wrists, flipping over so that Jonathan was the one pinned, cold asphalt pressing into his back. "Raped you? Now that's just untrue, Jonny, and I don't. Like. It. When people lie about me." He slapped Jonathan, hard, starting the nosebleed the Batman had given him back up. "Be a good boy and stop acting like a dumbass, or I'll make that little lie come true."

_He wouldn't_, Jonathan thought, though it didn't stop him from shaking. _That's not his style. He wouldn't do that. _But the fact that he'd made the threat to begin with, that ignited Jonathan's rage all over again, and he latched on to the one thing he thought would hurt the Joker the most. "He touched me."

Joker stared at him, confused, probably the first true emotion he'd shown since Jonathan arrived. "What?"

"The Batman. He touched me." Jonathan forced himself not to shudder at the memory, forced a smile on his face. This, hopefully, would hurt the Joker to hear every bit as much as his betrayal had hurt, and then some. "After you left. He touched me all over."

There was a flash of something—hurt? Jealousy?—in the Joker's eyes, though it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. He shrugged. "So you got molested. So what?"

"All over," Jonathan repeated, feeling bile rise in his throat at the thought of it, forcing his expression to remain content. "Here," he took one of the Joker's hands, ran it over his chest. "And here," over his stomach. "And here," over his side. "And here," and came to rest with the Joker's hand on his crotch, smirking.

Was it his imagination, or had the Joker gone pale under his makeup? Not, it wasn't his imagination, the clown was trying to laugh it off, but he was affected, Jonathan could see the anger in his eyes. "That's a search, you idiot. Are you so deprived of human contact you think a search counts as sexual interaction?"

Harley muttered something Jonathan didn't take the effort to make out. "Who cares what it was? He touched me and he didn't touch you." The argument sounded idiotic to his own ears, like something a child on a playground would come up with, but the Joker was shaking with anger. Scarecrow warned him, begged him really, to be more careful, but he was past concern for his own safety. All he wanted was to hurt the Joker, and this was working beautifully, so what if it was suicide? "He touched me all over and he said he didn't want to hurt me. So there."

"Jonathan." He had never heard the Joker's voice go flat like that. "Be quiet."

"I tasted him," Jonathan went on, nearly laughing at the way Joker went stiff. "This blood? Some of it's his."

"Quiet, I said." There were hands on his arms, painfully tight, shoving him into the pavement. He giggled.

"I had my lips on him. On his bare skin."

"Shut up!" A hand slammed into his face, and he saw stars, but remained happy as ever. This was good. This was _fantastic_.

"I tasted his _blood_, Joker. I _swallowed _some of it. I've got the Batman—"

"_Shut up_!" There were hands on his throat, tightening.

"I've got the Batman _inside _me," he rasped, before his airway was shut off completely.

"_Shut up shut up shut up_!" He couldn't breathe, and his head was being slammed against the pavement, over and over again. Over the sudden ringing in his ears he could hear Joker shouting, Harley screaming, and the horrible pounding sound of his skull against the parking lot. He saw stars and not much else, beyond the occasional flash of the Joker's furious face when his vision cleared enough.

For about a minute, he just lay there enjoying it. Pain aside, he'd succeeded in hurting the Joker, and that was all that mattered. He could happily die right here and now, for all he cared. But after the first minute, his oxygen-starved lungs started screaming at his brain, and pleasure gave way to panic. He thrashed, uselessly trying to pull the Joker off him, to no avail whatsoever. He was too strong, and too angry.

The ringing in his ears intensified to the point where he couldn't hear anything else anymore, the stars he saw filling his vision. His body was heaving, struggling for air it couldn't get, and in his desperation he did the only thing his suffocating mind could think of: he raised his wrist and fired the fear toxin right into the Joker's face.

* * *

AN: The bits Jonathan says in italics while he's attack the inmate are from Maurice Sendak's book _Where The Wild Things Are._ I think my having Jonathan quote random things is inspired by Jeff Loeb's Scarecrow, who speaks almost exclusively in nursery rhymes. That, and it reflects how completely batshit he's become.

"My tights—they're in ribbons!" is a line from _Breakfast on Pluto._

When Joker threatened rape, I don't think for a second he meant to go through with it. It was just a tactic to try and keep Jonathan in line.


	39. Consequences

AN: "Fish in the sea" is what Jonathan's trying to say when he makes his "bodies at the bottom of the river" comment.

Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

The Joker's hands left his throat immediately, went up to shield his face, but the damage was done. He'd been hit.

Harley shrieked, jumped between them, knocking Joker backwards off of him. It didn't matter. She was too late.

Jonathan sat up, slowly, gasping for air. His nose was bleeding harder than ever, his neck still burning from the choking, and the ache in his head was so agonizing, he wondered how he'd stayed conscious. There was a strange buzzing sound in one of his ears, accompanied by sharp pain and a bizarre leaking sensation, and when he raised his hand up to it, he felt blood. _Punctured ear drum. Fantastic._

"What did you do?" Harley screamed, tears pouring down her face. Beside her Joker was lying on the pavement, coughing so forcefully his whole body shook, hands rubbing at his eyes. Some of the toxin must have got in them. The coughing wasn't unusual, many of his test subjects reacted in that way before the drug took hold. In a few though, the lung irritation had been bad enough to kill them before the toxin took effect. He hoped that wasn't the case here. He also hoped, with all his heart, that Joker was a screamer. That would be enough to turn his whole day around.

"What do you mean, what did I do?" he asked, attempting to wipe blood from his face. All he succeeded in doing was spreading it around. His glasses hadn't been broken in the struggle, remarkably. "I poisoned him. Isn't that obvious?"

"Are you insane?" She backed away slightly, probably thinking she'd be poisoned as well.

"Well, yeah." He nudged the still coughing Joker with his shoe, bored. He wished he'd get over that annoying little side effect and onto the panic already. Good things may come to those who wait, but it didn't make the wait any less agonizing.

"Jonathan!" Harley was still crying. He felt bad for her, he realized. He'd sort of forgotten about her before, when all that mattered was hurting the Joker as badly as possible, but he felt bad for her. First she had been betrayed by both her boyfriend and best friend, then manipulated, then had to watch as her friend was nearly strangled and her love poisoned. Oh well. There'd be time for consolation after he watched the Joker suffer. "Jonathan, you could kill him!"

"Good."

Harley sobbed. It was annoying, and it made his head hurt worse. He didn't seem to have suffered much hearing loss in the ruptured ear, unfortunately. If he had, he could have turned that one toward her and enjoyed the show in peace.

"Oh, come now, it's not the end of the world," he said, trying to get that tone of sympathy he'd used so well as a psychiatrist. "There's plenty of other bodies at the bottom of the river, Harley." Was that how the expression went? It sounded off, and it made her cry harder than ever. "Have you considered online dating?"

"You're _sick_!"

_Well, look who's talking, _he was tempted to say. But seeing as how he'd likely ruined his relationship with the Joker forever—supposing that the Joker survived this—it would be unwise to start burning his few other bridges. Anyway, the Joker had stopped coughing, and now all his attention was focused on the clown lying huddled on the pavement.

"Mistah J?" Harley asked, voice shaking. "Puddin'?"

No response. He wasn't even shaking. Had his heart stopped? Because Jonathan was going to be pissed beyond appeasement if that was the case. It'd be just like the damn clown to give himself a heart attack before his tormenter could gain any satisfaction from the experience. Or he could have gone comatose with fright. Which would also suck.

Harley's hands were on the Joker's shoulder, shaking him, pleading in an increasingly panicked tone for him to get back up, or say something, anything, even move. He didn't.

Jonathan sighed. It figured. He stood, fully intending to give the clown a few thousand kicks in the ribs—to the point where they wouldn't be ribs anymore, just little fragments of bone—before he went on his merry way. This was pathetic. He was going to have to find and torment at least a dozen people before his mood even remotely lightened. He lifted his foot back, swung forward—

And the Joker's hand closed around his ankle, pulling forward, knocking him back to the ground.

_Oh, God _damn _it, _he thought, as he collided with the asphalt. This could only end badly. He heard, just barely, over the pain and the ringing in one ear, Harley's voice, begging. "Don't hurt him, Mistah J, please don't hurt him, I'm sure he didn't mean to—" A sound of impact like a punch, a pained cry, and then the Joker was on top of him, shaking, but with anger as opposed to fear.

_Shit. _Jonathan began shaking himself, staring up at those eyes. They'd actually turned red, around the irises; broken blood vessels from all the coughing, most likely. That in itself was horrific, but the look in his eyes made it a million times worse. There was anger there, yes, incredible anger, but there was also a terrible _clarity_, a sanity. Or what passed as sanity for the Joker.

The fear toxin didn't affect him.

_Fuck._

"You tried to kill me, you little _bitch_." Joker growled, grabbing Jonathan's hair, pulling him up so they were nearly eye to eye.

"You tried to kill me first." The words had barely left his mouth when the Joker shoved him sideways, slamming his head into the sports car. Broken glass from the window they'd been breaking rained down on his head, the crowbar stuck in the window threatening to fall. Pain shot through his injured ear like a nail gun firing, making his eyes tear, vision blurring for an agonizing moment.

"Because you _made _me hit you, bitch." He was dragged forward, vision clearing to find himself face to face with the Joker again. The pain of the injury didn't make his terror abate at all. "You've got no one but yourself to blame for that."

Behind him, Harley struggled to her knees. "Stop fighting," she pleaded, voice breaking. "Please, s_top. _I know you're both angry, but—"

"Harley, I swear to God if you interfere again I'll cut your face off." She fell silent, apart from the whimpering, and he turned his attention back to Jonathan. "If you didn't want to get hurt, you shouldn't have brought up—"

"Batman?" It was beyond idiotic to bring him up again, the stupidest thing he'd ever done, doubtless, but he didn't care. Rage at seeing Harley threatened that way had overridden his survival instinct. Scarecrow had stopped protested, stopped speaking at all, actually. He seemed to have left. Well, good riddance. He didn't need distractions.

Joker's fist collided into his face again, hitting a previously wounded spot, making it burn. "Don't ever, _ever _mention him again. I'll kill you. I'm _not _joking."

So he'd die. So what? He'd finally found the way under the Joker's skin. He'd die laughing if it meant getting to the clown. "He said he didn't like hurting me." This time he was punched in the eye. "He said he wanted to help me." This time to the stomach. He gasped for air, needing almost a full minute before he could continue. "Nev-n-never talks to _you _that way, does he? Bet he doesn't _touch _you eit—"

This time both of the Joker's hands were on his groin, and the pain was bad enough to shut him up. "You like being touched, you little whore? I'll show you touched, I'll rip it right fucking off, you stupid little sl—"

He reacted without thinking about it. All he knew was that he needed the Joker off, now, and his body responded for him, arms shooting out, taking hold of the Joker's head and slamming it into the back passenger window. His head shattered the glass, went through it, his hands coming off Jonathan's body. Jonathan slumped down, the ache in his crotch that spread up into his stomach harder to bear than all his previous injuries combined. Harley was screaming, though she remained in place, no doubt fearing retribution for the clown if she moved. The Joker didn't move, for a moment, and Jonathan wondered almost casually if he'd perhaps impaled himself on a shard of glass. But then he pulled himself out, hands on Jonathan's shoulders before he could scurry away.

His face and throat had become a patchwork of little cuts, dripping blood. And he looked mad as ever. "You filthy little—"

"Guess you didn't need the crowbar after all," Jonathan said, before he could stop himself, admiring the hole Joker's head had made through the window. He saw the Joker's eyes light up, and realized that was most assuredly not the wisest thing he could have said.

"Hey…the _crowbar_." Fingers of one hand digging into Jonathan's shoulder like steel, he reached past his captive to the crowbar shoved through the window, grabbed it, pulled it out. "Thanks for the reminder, _kitten_."

"_Don't_!" Harley was on her feet again, running towards them, her concern apparently overshadowing her fear of the Joker. Joker merely rolled his eyes and swung his arm backwards, the bar striking her across the hip. Harley feel to her knees, shrieking. The Joker smirked at the sound, bringing his arm back again, shifting his other hand to hold Jonathan in place by the hair. "And remember, you brought this on yourself."

He swung his arm forward and everything went black, for a second.

Jonathan came to what could only be moments later, Joker still with the crowbar in his hand, Harley still sobbing. He felt nauseous, dizzy, as if he'd been spinning in circles, and his head hurt worse than ever. _What happened? _He couldn't remember. He assumed from the pain he'd been hit in the head again, but he had no recollection of it. He tried to focus, but his mind didn't seem to be up to that at the moment, thoughts crawling at a snail's pace.

"Concussion's a bitch, huh?" Joker asked, that damn grin across his face, showing yellowed, bloody teeth. Once again, Jonathan did the first thing that came into his head, grabbed the end of the crowbar nearest him and shoved forward. The opposite side slammed into Joker's mouth, and the clown gave a yelp that was more surprise than pain, jerking backwards. He knocked the crowbar away and sat up, mouth bloodied and closed, tongue pushing against the lips for a moment before his eyes widened and he spat into his hand.

Amidst the blood that fell into his palm were two teeth. His two _front _teeth, Jonathan noted, as he watched the Joker's tongue run over the gap in his now open mouth. Jonathan was torn between sheer panic and hysterical laughter, and while he was making up his mind the Joker pocketed his teeth and grabbed the crowbar, tugging it from Jonathan's hands hard enough to cut.

"You. Little. Bastard." The crowbar struck him across the collarbone and he felt himself break, shrieking as he fell backwards. "You ruined my _smile, _you sick son of a bitch." The weapon came down again, this time on a hand he'd raised to protect himself, and the fingers went with a disgusting crack.

He giggled. He couldn't help it. He was dead by now, anyway. There was no way the Joker would let him live through this. Another crack, this time on his left hand, and he screamed through his laughter, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't take this. Not drawn out this way, a million little pieces at a time. Not even his newfound madness was comforting enough to make that less hellish. So he looked up, still grinning, and said what he hoped would push him right over the edge. "He said he'd check up on me, make sure I was okay. He wanted me to be safe."

"Oh. Really." He heard the flat rage in the Joker's voice and braced himself. "Well, let's see—" WHAM. His ribs shattered. "—him keep you safe—" The ribs on the other side snapped. "—_from_—" and again, on the already broken ribs. "—_THIS_!" Once more on his injured torso, and he felt one of his ribs push into something on the inside. Indescribable pain shot through his body, breathing suddenly as hard as if the Joker had been sitting on his chest rather than his legs. There was blood in his mouth, thick and foamy, as if someone had mixed air into it.

"_STOP_!" Harley was back, and for once her interference made a difference. She grabbed Joker in a headlock, pulling him off. The jolt of movement made the pain so terrible he blacked out for another few seconds, and came to with Harley over him. "Jonathan? Are you all right?"

_What the hell kind of stupid question is that?_ He couldn't think of a smart remark, and even if he had, he doubted himself capable of speech at the moment. It didn't matter anyway, because Joker was back up within seconds, pulling Harley off the way she'd pulled him. "Start the car, Harl."

"W-where are we going?" She was shaking, huddled away from the Joker, still staring down at Jonathan.

"To a fucking dentist, stupid. And then to GCN. Get going, _now, _before I do the same to you." He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. With one last frightened look down at Jonathan, she was off.

Joker kneeled down over him, brushing his hair gently out of his face. "Probably hate me pretty much right now, huh?" He gave a smile that was almost cute, despite—or perhaps because of—the missing teeth.

_Fucking understatement of the millennium, _he thought, wishing more than anything he could move enough to bite the clown's damn fingers off.

"Thought so." Joker stroked his face, softly enough that it didn't hurt, even when his hand caressed the injuries. "But remember Jonathan, you brought this on yourself. I take it you've learned your lesson, so things can be more pleasant when we next meet?"

_If I live through this, _he thought, fuming, _when we next meet, I'll fucking kill you._

The engine roared to life, and Joker pulled his hand back. "Much as I'd love to stay and chat, this _little _problem," he stuck his tongue in the gap between his teeth again. "Needs to be dealt with pretty quickly." He sat up, nearly stood, but stopped, glancing down at Jonathan again. A funny little smile twitched on his face.

"I'm sorry, you know? Not about what I did, but about how things turned out."

He knelt down again, and to Jonathan's rage and shame, his lips brushed, softly, against Jonathan's forehead. "Bye-bye, my angel." Sickened, he felt tears glide down his face as the Joker stood, pulling open the door of the car and stepping inside. There was a pause, then the wheels started rolling and they were gone, leaving him broken and alone, staring up at the sky.

* * *

AN: Fear gas not working on Joker is taken from the comics. There, Scarecrow tries it on him and is nearly beaten to death with a chair. Joker gets his teeth knocked out fairly often as well. I don't know if he kidnaps dentists or if teeth in the DC universe grow back.

I've had a ruptured eardrum, due to illness. Nastiest feeling ever, though mine didn't hurt too badly, and definitely one of the worst experiences of my life, exacerbated by the fact that the day it happened, I had to do two play performances before I could see a doctor and then had to see the doctor in stage makeup, so I looked like a prostitute or someone trying way, way too hard.


	40. Giving Up

AN: So, this is the last chapter of this story, but there will be a sequel up, within the week. Probably in the next few days, at the speed I'm going, but as I'm moving back into my dorm on Sunday I can't make any guarantees.

Thank you all so much for the reviews you've given me! It makes me feel happy beyond reason to click on my inbox and see that someone liked what I've written enough to review. You guys are the best ever, and I definitely could not have finished it without your input!

* * *

After a bone breaks, there is a period of numbness.

There's the initial pain first, which serves as a warning to the body that something's wrong and attention is needed. It's also a reminder that the area is injured and needs to be treated delicately. After that, the pain goes away for a little while. That's a defense mechanism; the idea is that if people are injured, they are more than likely in a dangerous situation, and the numbness allows them time to get out of the situation, without the pain slowing them down. After a reasonable period of time, however, the pain resumes.

It was resuming on Jonathan's collar bone now. His hands and his ribs were still blessedly painless, and the ache in his head and insides, as they weren't caused by fractures, had never left. There was still blood coming up in his mouth, frothy and coppery. He took it as a sign that one of his ribs had punctured a lung, and he was slowly drowning in his own blood.

The perfect ending to a perfect day.

He was glad of the pain, though, excruciating as it was. It made it harder to fall asleep, and he'd never felt so tired in his life. Even the week of sleepless nights from the time Arkham had drugged him catatonic hadn't been this exhausting. He recognized his fatigue as a sign of a concussion, much like his confusion from before, and his inability to remember the blow to the head that had caused it, and he knew sleeping with a concussion could very well kill him, if the rest of his injuries didn't do the job first.

He wasn't sure why he was struggling to stay awake, really. _What have I got left to live for? I betrayed my friend and almost killed her lover in front of her, provoked a madman into beating me within an inch of my life, and found out that the man I thought loved me has been playing me to get a new weapon this entire time. And I went fucking insane. Yeah, there's some incentive to live._ Still, as he felt his eyes start to close, he forced them back open, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. The spark of pain brought him back for a moment, but then he was fighting off fatigue again.

He was a narcissist, that was the reason. Deep down he didn't want to die this way, no matter how tempting the desire to just give up was. Letting this kill him would be letting the Joker win, and he couldn't do that. So he fought with all he had, though all he had wasn't much and was diminishing by the second. At least the pain was returning, that was something. Hopefully once he regained the full agony from all the injuries, thoughts of sleep would go out of his head.

He heard the Batman's words in his mind: _He used you. _The tears started back up again, and he wished he could move enough to wipe them away. Even when he was alone it disgusted him that he gave into such a weakness. He never cried, at least, not since he was a child. And here he was, sobbing, not even from pain or some similar, acceptable excuse. No, he was crying over a _relationship_, of all things. Because his feeling had gotten hurt. It was pathetic. He was pathetic, and he was starting to wish, ego aside, that the blood in his lungs would just kill him already. He had no idea how he was going to live with himself after this, and he wasn't in that big of a hurry to find out.

_He gave me a rose, _some small, petulant part of his mind lamented, a part that wanted to deny the truth. _He gave me a rose and he told Harley that he loved me. How could he hurt me like this?_

Because he was a manipulator. Because that's all he did, take the unsuspecting and toy with them, until he'd gotten what he wanted and then they would be thrown aside, like a childhood toy abandoned with age. And that's what he'd been, a _toy. _A whore, a weapons supplier, a conversation partner, but just a glorified toy. Never a friend, and certainly never a lover.

But he'd let himself believe that he was, and that was even more painful than realizing the truth had been. _I was supposed to be special. I was supposed to be better than that. _Some genius he was. He'd let himself be pulled into the exact same trap as Harley, after watching her be seduced, for the love of God, and through the whole process turned a blind eye to the glaringly obvious truth. He could have killed himself, if he was able to move, he was so disgusted.

Scarecrow hadn't returned yet, and he found that almost as upsetting as the whole betrayal and near death experience thing. His other half always seemed to know the right thing to say, even if it hurt to hear. He may be crass and insulting, but he managed to be uplifting, or at least consoling, though he didn't phrase things eloquently. Then he realized he was essentially wishing for an imaginary friend to comfort him, and felt a new wave of disgust.

_That's it, I give up on life. _If the only thing he had to keep him going was talking to himself under a different name, there was no point. He knew why Scarecrow wasn't answering anyway: he was every bit as disgusted at Jonathan as Jonathan was with himself. And he had every right to be. Jonathan had ignored his warnings, after all, and walked right into a soon-to-be deadly beating.

He sighed, accidentally inhaling some of the blood in his mouth, which led to a long and horrendously painful coughing fit. Once that was through, and he was hurting worse than ever, he left his eyes close, no longer trying to fight how sleepy he felt. So he was going to die lying beaten and humiliated in the parking lot of the building where he'd been imprisoned. So what? He was too injured, emotionally drained, and tired to care, at this point. All he wanted was sleep, even if it killed him.

"Crane."

The voice jolted him awake, eyes opened and blinking rapidly as he tried to ignore the agony the movement had put him in. Kneeling before him, because his luck was just that bad, was the Batman.

_Oh, fuck._

"Are you all right?"

He wished he could shout. Did he look all right? Honestly, people were such idiots. You'd think anyone who ran around in a costume like that each night yet was somehow smart enough not to get caught would be intelligent enough to tell when someone was injured. He supposed the question could be a test of his alertness, but he wasn't in the mood to be generous. The Batman was an idiot, and that's all there was to it.

"Are you all right?"

He glared at him, wishing he could summon the energy necessary to tell him to fuck off. Batman seemed to be satisfied with the fact that Crane could focus his eyes on him and reached out, pressing his knuckles against Crane's sternum and pushing. Definitely a test of his level of consciousness, then. The questions had been there to see if he was alert and could speak. This, he realized, wincing at the sensation, was a test of his response to pain.

It was also being touched again. He felt the few tears he couldn't hold in sliding down his face, on one side dripping into his ear and mixing with the blood pooled there.

"You can't move, can you?"

_Well, no shit, detective. Get your hands off me. _He figured he wouldn't get far glaring and let his desperation show through, a flood of tears coming to his eyes now that he'd stopped holding back. He noticed the Batman had gauze taped over the spot where Crane had bit him, gauze already soaked with blood.

_Oh, hell. _He'd almost forgotten about their little fight. Traumatic head injuries will do that for you. Fantastic. So that's why the Batman had arrived: revenge. It wasn't enough to be beaten to near death by his lover, apparently, now his nemesis had to come along and finished the job. He stiffened, painfully, waiting for the blows to come. Another to his chest would likely drive the rib in his lung all the way into his heart.

At least then it wouldn't hurt anymore.

Batman stood and Crane closed his eyes, shaking.

The blow didn't come.

He opened his eyes, confused.

The Batman was gone.

_Ah. Of course. His stupid little rule. _Batman wouldn't kill him, obviously, at least not directly. Instead, he'd just leave him to bleed out. Never mind that abandoning him when he'd die without help was exactly the same. Oh well. It would just take longer this way, and hurt more. No big deal, he could handle it.

He let his eyes close again, ready to let sleep and death take him.

There was a noise of approaching footsteps. He opened his eyes.

There were paramedics standing over him, kneeling down, hands on him that made bile rise in his throat but that he didn't have the strength to shove away. _Stupid fucking Batman. _This was even worse than letting him have a drawn out death. He didn't want to be helped, damn it, he didn't want to keep on living. How was he supposed to go on, after something like this? And now, he realized, as he was lifted onto a stretcher, body screaming in protest, he had no choice. Stupid God damn sadistic Bat.

They couldn't even give him anything for the pain, when they put him in the ambulance. That would run the risk of knocking him out, and they couldn't do that with a concussion patient, not until they'd relieved the pressure on his brain. _Jesus Christ. _He was strapped down, as if there was any way he could escape him his current condition, and then they were gone, doubtless to look for survivors in the asylum. He found himself wishing he'd choke on blood before they came back, out of spite.

And suddenly the Batman was back, standing over him.

_For the love of God. _Weren't there crimes or something that he could be stopped? Citizens in need of protection? Of course, he supposed there was no fun in that, not when there were injured villains to torment. Oh, how he wished he could curse.

"No one's going to touch you, once you get out of the hospital and come back here." His tone of voice implied that he knew Crane had invented his fear of the guards' retaliation, so he had no idea why the Bat was saying this. His idea of a joke, probably. "I'll make sure."

_Go to hell, _he thought, as the vigilante disappeared again.

The paramedics returned shortly afterwards, and began a long, slow ride to the hospital, during which he was sure the driver purposefully hit every pothole on the road. He spent the time alternating between wishing for his own death, wishing for the Joker's death, and most of all, wishing he had the Batman in chains, with an unending supply of fear toxin and all the time in the world.

* * *

AN: As I said, keep an eye out for the sequel, and thanks for reading!


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